Of weather and whiskers
by 19.Shymuffins
Summary: AU about Ororo and if she was inside Civil War, already married to Black Panther. Takes place after T'Chaka passed on. May or may not follow Civil War plot but will generally follow its timeline. Rated T to be safe although all fluff kept to a minimum. No swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Rain poured heavily, large crystalline drops splashed onto the burial grounds and onto the graven memorial, the shaven marble glistening like a rhino's horn on a bright summer. The field was lined with flowers and the memorial had a silver panther graciously carved in it. The panther was poised and silent, its head was lowered to its paws, tail anxiously curled around its feet; it was paying homage to the man who once occupied the body below the ivory white memorial. The memorial was indeed white, fashioned by the best marble carvers in the world. The only thing whiter than the memorial was the hair of a lady who stood next to it, accompanied by a man standing in silence, staring at the space just above the box.

The lady turned to looked at the man, he had lost weight. She lay a hand on his back. He faced her, smiling and put his arms around her waist, leaning on her for support and for comfort.

No words were needed for this moment.

She looked around. Aside for the guards stationed around to protect them, they were alone. No press, no relatives, no people, just the two of them. Perfect, she thought. He needed to be alone. He needed to express his grief. Wakanda couldn't see their king in a state of distress, they would label him a weakling. He gave his eulogy in the morning, he didn't cry. He couldn't cry. When the funeral was over, their citizens had come to pay their respects. He thanked them for being a part of his father's passing and he didn't cry. He almost shed a tear as he saw a picture of his father at the signing of the Accords, but he didn't. She was proud of him for that.

When was she never proud of him?

She saw him don the Panther suit once. It fit him well. It made her heart pulse with pride and adoration, but she would never tell him that. Now her beloved was the monarch. Now he was the Black Panther, Protector and King.

She had always seen him as the Protector, much less the King. But now, what he needed most was someone to support him.

"You can cry."

He gave a nervous laugh, hugging her tighter.

"The people would not like it."

"The people are not here, T'Cha. Just me. What I like most is for you to be happy. To be happy, you must let go of your grief. So cry."

A single tear rolled down his eye. His heart was pounding wildly, full of anger and bitterness. It didn't match.

"You want revenge?"

T'Challa didn't answer. He closed his eyes and pulled his wife into a full embrace. What would he do without her? It had been difficult to get married. She was a low-life, he a prince. But he had wanted no other beside her. His father had once suggested another girl, a general's daughter. He wouldn't approve of this girl who had run wild in the marketplace, notorious in the villages for being rowdy and a nuisance. But T'Challa didn't see a thief or a thug. He saw a lady who was trying to survive, abandoned by her caregivers. He saw potential and elegance, both of which were rare to find in most Wakandan females. Sure, they could be powerful, but power was not what T'Challa was finding.

And unexpectedly, this lady had powers of her own. He was not sure when she actually found out or where she had them from. He only knew that her ability to manipulate the weather was the selling point for his father's approval. Wakanda would benefit greatly from her powers, the agriculture business here had blossomed several months after she had been wed to royalty.

She was useful.

Not just to the country but to him as well. Her hot-headedness often gave him the ability to perform tasks and carry out policies that he normally wouldn't initiate. She gave him comfort and allowed him to be calm. And courageous. He understood now why his father always carried a picture of T'Challa's mother with him, it provided him with strength. It was the same with Ororo. She made him feel powerful. And now, at the peak of his grief, when he felt helpless as he watched his father pass on before his eyes, he needed to be powerful again. He was glad Ororo could be here with him. She had always been there for him and made him feel content.

When had she ever made him feel discontent?

The couple closed their eyes and listened to the sound of rain hitting the gloomy umbrellas that hovered over their heads, the rhythmic pitter-patter coupled with the occasional sloshing of water provided a symphony so fitting for this moment. They watched the distant clouds create a mist around their beloved country and looked at the muddy landscape turn green before their eyes. The chilling serenity compelled Storm to speak up. She didn't like the quiet.

"So, are you going after him?"

"Hmm?"

"T'Cha..." Munroe's eyes narrowed, in the distance, a soft rumbling could be heard. The rain thickened a little, causing a few drops of water to fall through the umbrella around them. Ororo's left shoulder became slightly damp. T'Challa brushed the water away, feigning ignorance. He felt guilty that he was treating his wife this way, he really was not the sort to resort to a cold war. But he couldn't answer her as he was not sure. And if he told her that he was unsure, Ororo would convince him to let the matter rest. After all, there was justice in this world. But it was not her father. The hurried rain compelled him to answer. He didn't like the noise.

"I am aware you wish I didn't."

"I want you safe. With me."

"So you doubt my abilities?"

"No, I'm just being cautious. You are the King, if your people see you chasing after someone so recklessly, it may jeopardise the very reputation your father tried so hard to build. And one cannot rule out the possibility of you being injured. Even if your suit is Vibraniam, I'm certain there are more ways to kill a man than shooting him with a gun."

The man stroked her white hair, obviously not being very persuaded. The woman pursed her lips, unsure of what to say next.

"If I go, will you follow?"

"The man will be facing a great force."

"Indeed, he will yield easily."

"But if his friends help him? What would we do? They are under the Slokovian law. The countries must have something to say about this."

"They agree that he is to be captured."

"By a Wakandan king?"

"By anyone who can stop him."

She pulled away from the embrace, leaving her husband feeling slightly anxious. He still held both her hands, which was a good thing, he presumed. He didn't want her upset. Neither would he want his father to have passed on with no one to avenge him. If he wanted to fight, he needed his beloved's support. Where else would he draw his strength otherwise?

"So?" T'Challa inquired, hoping her answer would be a "yes".

Storm looked him dead in the eye.

"I love you and whatever you decide, I support you always. But I do not wish to fight. Not now."

T'Challa nodded and gave her a kiss, whispering in Wakandan, "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

The man glanced at his phone, occasionally stopping to reply to the thousands of emails that littered his inbox. Most of them were requests to grace several occasions, either in Wakanda or abroad. Those would be settled by his secretary. He had guessed right, the Captain would be there for his friend. And, as he had predicted, all three of them would be arrested. Now, he was waiting for one of them. He suspected Ms Romanoff would be the one to conduct a psychological evaluation on him. It would be fun, he admitted, to interact with the lady. He had heard she had quite a resume. Still, he preferred to get this over and done with, he was a busy King, with many affairs to tend to. But, he knew this was only possible if one of them escaped.

Westerners were all so predictable.

Storms, on the other hand, are not so. And, glancing up at the rumbling grey skies, growling with worry and brooding distress, he guessed one was about to happen. He wished it wasn't the alternative.

But, as the clouds cleared, they parted ways for a figure who floated around in the mist, hands outstretched and face creased with sorrow. Her eyes, though blank as a slate, spoke volumes about how discontent she was with the whole issue and her mangled hair billowed around her face, almost as if they wished to fly away from the confrontation that was about to happen. Coming closer to the building, she landed some feet away from the entrance. T'Challa wished he could have been there to witness their reactions as this dark-toned lady with white hair appeared from nowhere. Her confidence never ceased to amaze him, how she had the guts to march up, with no weapons, no guards, no identification, just herself, to a rather secluded and restricted area. Sure, she wasn't raised as a dignitary, but he was sure that years of experience as his Queen would have taught him better.

Somehow, he was wrong. Which was rarely the case.

Regardless, within several minutes, the lady had flurried up the stairs in a huff and arrived to stand in front of him. The distant clouds began to rumble with fury, threatening to unleash a torrent of flood upon the face of this earth. The sky surrounding the building became greyer, the shadows from the overhanging clouds charred the earth's surface. Yet, within the vast tapestry of the sky, were gentle dapples of white, brushing the furious rainclouds aside.

Guess she wasn't that angry.

"Stop staring at the sky."

"Must you cause such a commotion wherever you go?"

"Speak for yourself." Storm said with a huff. The sky began to soften. "What were you thinking? You could have been injured or worse!"

"I do not injure easily. Besides, you said you would be supportive."

"You said you were going on a diplomatic trip."

She sat down on the chair next to him, her arms folded. Trust T'Challa to be the one to land himself in trouble. He wasn't some Wakandan warrior, he was the King. And, for the life of her, Storm would never imagine a King running after some criminal, putting his own life at stake. The people would be upset if they found out. T'Challa never could be persuaded by her words, so she had guessed he would chase after the man. What she did not expect was that he would lie to her about it.

How could he be so reckless?

It was so unlike him, not the calm, cold man she had married. He was the one who decided they should wait for his father's approval and they did. He was the one who logically suggested they wait until the economy in Wakanda had stabilised before marrying and they did. He was the one who decided to shift to the Western side of Wakanda where it was easier to operate and control the exportation of Vibranium and they did.

And now, this man who had always decided to do the right thing had done something so careless, it made her worry day and night about this man. She was convinced her unpredictability had rubbed off onto him. Now, here they were, in America, a country she had sworn to avoid as much as possible. It was only a matter of time before her old friends made contact with her. Didn't one of the students' parents stay around here? It took a lot of convincing for her to finally leave the school and it already made her feel guilty towards the family she had so loved.

"Are you that upset?"

"You tell me." She fumed, refusing to look at the man. Come to think of it, she had yet to hear of what had become of Xavier and his team of unlikely mutants. She had heard the attacks on the school had somehow increased, especially since the Avengers started, people had become more aware that there were beings with powers beyond imagination.

"So, when you said you were going to do it yourself, I guessed you meant you were really going to do it yourself..."

Ororo turned around and glanced at the woman with red hair. Immediately, her brows furrowed, causing the sky to darken. Her husband gave her a warning glare, one that the woman didn't notice, or pretended not to. She hated the way the woman walked, more so the way she addressed T'Challa. Her crimson locks swayed just as much as her hips did. Her character was one that seemed slippery and she gave an aura of pretence everywhere she went. Her cunning eyes were clouded in mystery that, for all Storm tried to figure out, made her annoyingly attractive and intriguing. If T'Challa were any normal man, Storm would have guessed he'd fall right into her entrancing web.

The woman must have noticed Storm's annoyance at her presence, because now, she offered her a sly smile and sauntered across the room to sit on a chair right in the middle of T'Challa and Storm. The lady seemed smart enough to guess that she was either his fiancee or wife and that allowed her to manipulate Storm easily. Ororo figured out that this lady wanted to distract T'Challa and since his significant other was here, if the lady could make her angry enough, it would give T'Challa something to worry about. It would be hard, Storm knew she could be extremely hot-tempered at times. Harder, considering the fact that every thought of hers would be reflected in the weather around them. She wondered how long more before this lady noticed the sudden subtle changes in the weather. Storm gave a huff, causing a light breeze to pick up outside.

Her husband noticed immediately and made an attempt to distract the lady.

"You are not used to the truth, are you?"

Storm smiled, her man had this woman figured out already. Trust this lady to want to mess with the big cat. Who did she think she was? Besides, it seems this lady was going to ignore her presence for as long as possible, so Ororo decided to do the same. The Wakandan King frowned almost immediately, a strategy he used to make his guards nervous, especially when he needed them to leave quickly so he could sneak out.

"I got a look at your suit," She crossed her legs, coyly, glancing straight at the man. Storm could see that the lady was getting discouraged, it seemed that she wasn't used to being out-witted. She smiled. "Vibranium-weave, I'm very impressed. You realise this puts you under the court's jurisdiction?"

"How long do your psychological evaluations usually take?"

"Why, you bored?" The lady asked.

Storm sighed, this lady still had the cheek to ask.

"I'm sorry, Ms Romanoff, I and my prisoner have a plane to catch. And my wife is waiting for me."

The lady feigned surprise as she turned back to Monroe. She stood up and apologised intensely to Storm. Not that it really mattered, of course, it was all an act. As far as T'Challa was concerned, the psychological evaluation was still on-going. The woman shook her hand and introduced herself. Redundant, considering her husband had given away her last name and marital status. Single. Monroe smiled back. Of course, she wouldn't be this flamboyant if she was attached so it made sense she had not yet found a significant other. Although intuition told Ororo this lady had already someone, if not, several _someones_ in mind. Monroe dipped her head. If this woman was going to put on a show, then so should she.

"You seem like a very capable woman."

"Likewise, do you."

Storm smiled, then slid across to where T'Challa was standing. Normally, he wasn't the sort who would greet her with hugs and kisses. Wakandans usually weren't as affectionate towards their spouses as Westerners were. More so, T'Challa and Storm weren't at liberty to publicly display their affection, given their positions as King and Queen of Wakanda. The people would find it strange and absurd. And, given the fact that Storm's feelings were connected to the weather, it would be rather distracting and obvious for miles around. Ororo understood this and would have been contented to simply stand by his side. But today, he humoured her by placing an arm around her, letting her head rest on his shoulders. This lasted only for a while before he tapped her lightly on her arms.

The lady curtly nodded her head, she wasn't jealous.

"I can see you are not one for politics, but I think you might be a bit naive."

Just then, another man came in from the side, clapping his hands in sarcasm.

"Trouble?" Storm whispered.

T'Challa nodded, looking straight at the lady. "Yes, Ms Ramonoff, I'm sure I have much to learn."

The lady looked at him, stunned. Ororo suddenly pitied her. She had come in so confidently, only to have her wits out-matched by her husband. The room was filled with an overwhelming awkwardness. She sensed that the lady was not too happy with the way events had turned out but there was really nothing else she could have done.

Suddenly, the alarm sounded, the sirens coloured the room red. Ms Ramonoff looked at the couple in confusion. Storm reassured her that they did nothing, stating that she and T'Challa were here on their own. Hurriedly, she took her leave, sprinting down the steps. From a distance, Storm noticed that she had caught up to another blonde lady, wearing a bulletproof vest. They now headed off to another area, the room appeared to be in a frenzy.

She turned to the cameras, just as they showed a scene of a man escaping. He tore down the door with his arms, forcing his way through metal and wires to break free of his cell. She was stunned. So he was quite powerful.

"That's him?"

T'Challa affirmed it, striding past her. She grabbed his arm.

"Wait!"

Storm sighed, hoping she wouldn't regret this.

"I'm coming with you."


	3. Chapter 3

Electric bolts rushed up and down her arms, the white flashes of lighting writhing in pain and anguish. They danced around her arms, volts of blue streaked out from her fingers and wrapped themselves around her wrists, sliding past her palms into a spherical mass in between her torso. She had watched the strange man with the metal arm knock T'Challa away. Now he was on the ground. Sure, he wasn't injured, but he had lost a little momentum. It wouldn't throw him off, she had seen him face stronger enemies and beat beasts larger than an African elephant with just two blows. It helped that he was enhanced. She was certain if he wasn't, this man would already have pounded him into the ground till he was half dead.

 _He's not injured._

Still, Storm couldn't help but worry. It was natural. He was her other half, and she was his, and they needed each other. They would always need each other, but now, so soon after T'Chaka's death, he needed her more. At least, that was what she had hoped. With a flick of her fingers, she sent the ball of death straight to the man's arm. He started spasming which made him falter a little, but other than the small inconvenience, the electricity did nothing. Storm wondered if he even was human. But she had scarcely time to think about these things, now the man had seen her. She yelped as she locked eyes with him.

The man's eyes seemed distant and tortured. The same kind of look she saw when she was in prison as a little girl. Like an ex-convict, returning from his sentence of stripes. Painful, tormented. The man didn't seem like he was in control of himself, much less, know what was happening at the current moment. Was he being...mind-controlled? Monroe, mustering her courage, flew towards the man, summoning gusts of wind to propel her through the air. In a swift blow, she knocked him in the head with her elbow. The man dropped downwards.

Eerily, he rose up again, back hunched and hair dripping with sweat. He grimaced as his arm cracked.

Before she could do anything, the man swung his arm at her, barely missing her face. As she dodged, he twisted his torso and yanked her downwards in an unnaturally rapid motion. She braced herself as the ground met her back. A sharp pain entered her spine. Groaning, she spun away, only to have the man firmly plant his foot into the ground. It would have crushed her hands if she had not moved away. Attempting to attack, she moved her legs and swept her calves towards the man's leg, hoping that it would be enough to make him lose his balance. _Apparently,_ i _t wasn't._

Panic settled in but before another thought could cross her mind, the man that towered over her was sent flying backwards. Glancing up, she noticed her spouse standing in between the man and her, poised to attack. The man hesitated, before taking off for the steps.

T'Challa sprinted away, bounding after him in bigger strides, although a few minutes later he reappeared at the doorway, muttering something in his native tongue, which Storm knew to be a string of curses for the escapee. She tried to stand up before T'Challa could help her...she didn't like being helped up. It wasn't befitting a strong African queen like her. Too late. He was already by her side, kneeling in front of her and offering her his hand.

 _Whatever, a lady can't reject a man if he wants to help._

She took his hand. In one handsome sweep, she was standing on her feet, inches away from T'Challa. She looked up and brushed his face, concerned lighting her face. Beyond, the clouds rumbled. Normally, she would be annoyed that the weather so easily betrayed her emotions. Now, the thought that crossed her mind was finding out if he was hurt. She knew the answer already, of course, but she still needed to ask. It was her duty, both as Queen and as his partner...no matter what T'Challa thought.

"T'Cha, are you..."

"Hurt? No. Of course, I am not. It would take ten more men like him to ever slow me down."

T'Challa briskly answered. He didn't like it when she asked these kinds of questions as if she already didn't know the answer. Sure it was for courtesy and he, of all people, Ororo included, would understand the need to assure the Wakandans that their King and Queen were still very much in love and that they cared for each other. Estranged marriages were never beneficial for the royal court much less the country they were serving. And it wasn't as if he didn't know the importance of putting on an act, that was his skill set...at least, one of his _many_ skill sets.

But now? They were alone, save for a couple of Americans, all of whom, he assumed and he assumed correctly, had little to no idea how to deal with royalty and were clueless as to what a monarchy actually entailed. Judging from the fact that all of them seemed less concerned with presenting themselves properly in front of him at all, he presumed they wouldn't care if he had a failed marriage. Moreover, he and Oro were not even in public where the prying eyes of paparazzi would greedily soak up any inch of gossip and spread out the feast for every media company in the world to gorge on. Here, there was no such thing. No camera to shy away from or journalists to avoid. Both of them were standing in a covert premise!

 _Why did she always have to act like she had something to prove?_

He gave a small gruff and walked away and Monroe followed suit. She seemed hurt. T'Challa knew why she had a pout on her face, he was expected to ask her if she was okay or if she was fine. But Ororo was a Queen, a woman who had to be tough. And if she wanted to prove herself to the Wakandans or her "imaginary audience", then she would have to make do with T'Challa not swooning over her as if he was to meet her every need and watch out for her every step.

 _Whatever, a gentleman can't upset a woman if she wants to prove herself._

"Are you hurt?"

Oro smiled. Inwardly, T'Challa grinned. She was so easy to please, and for this, T'Challa was grateful.

"Only my ego."

Both of them laughed softly and held hands. T'Challa held her hand and faced the dorsum of her hand towards the sky. He brought it gently upwards and gave it a light kiss. Oro blushed, subconsciously making the skies become more cloudy. She swayed her hips slightly, pursed her lips and walked backwards, before turning around in a beautiful twirl and pulled him out of this room. He felt his pulse quicken. She was the only one who could make him feel this way. He sighed and trailed behind her, taking in the sight of the long pearl locks that covered her back. He noticed a red scar on her back, exposed by a small tear at the side of her dress. Where the fabric had come apart was a dirty red bump, the edges almost turning blue. He frowned. He didn't like it when she was injured.

As much as he didn't show it, he knew he needed her. It was natural. He was a King, a level headed, unemotional being who was the face and voice of his country. She was his Queen, a hot-headed, emotional woman who was his voice and object of concern. They needed each other, like how the lions needed his harem of Queens. But unlike the beast who needed a pride of lionesses to satiate his thirst, he was just satisfied with one. This one, in particular. And since he was going to have her only, he needed to make sure she was at her best.

He called for his guards to come and bring him some Harpagophytum extract and cloth and motioned for Monroe to sit down. She refused, saying it was just a scratch and that the people would object to this. He curtly replied that the people would not object to making their King unhappy and their King would be unhappy if her bruises were not treated at once. He motioned for her to sit down. The guards brought an ornate wooden box and took out the contents, setting it beside them on a nearby table. He motioned for them to leave.

Only when they were really alone, she curiously nudged him and asked, "Since when were you so romantic?"

"Since the day I married you, _Mpenzi._ Now turn around."

She obliged and held up her hair to the side. T'Challa began massaging the cream on her back, taking care to ensure the layer was thinly coated on her skin. She cringed as the herb met her back then relaxed as the pain subsided and was replaced by a numbing cool. When he was done, he took the clean cloth and wiped her back before washing the cloth at the nearby basin. Ororo, meanwhile, dressed herself and kept the extract back in the box.

"Your sister wants to talk to you." She blurted suddenly.

T'Challa looked at her. Was that the real reason why she had come? He and his sister were never on good terms, although they could get along with each other and rise to the occasion when needed. He mused, she wasn't even present at her own father's funeral.

"Why did she find you?"

"Because she thinks I'm the only one you would listen to."

T'Challa groaned, draining the water from the cloth. Clearly, he was irritated that his sister would trouble his wife so much just to have a conversation with him. Shuri was never logical in thinking and was terrible when planning ahead. At least, terrible for someone in his family. She was driven mostly by impulses and when she did make a wise decision, it was only if he and his brothers stepped in. As much as he hated the way she did things, he knew she would never approach him if it was not an urgent matter.

He turned to face his wife.

"Shuri is right."


	4. Chapter 4

The man approached the clearing, surrounding him were trees tall as thirty elephants stacked above each other. The bare trunks were full of ants whose stings and bites were enough to drive a normal person mad. If not for his Vibranium armour, he was sure he would have passed out a long time ago. He turned to face Ororo, who was wearing a black cloak that shielded her skin from the venomous warriors. He looked at her to check if she was okay, and she nodded.

Stepping out into the open, he carefully placed one foot in front of the other, the way his father and grandfather had taught him how. It was almost instinct to him at this point, to ensure that his steps overlapped to minimise his impact on the surroundings. To anyone foreign to the jungle, their hasty footsteps would signal their clumsiness and hesitation, which he had learnt to avoid by being silent and fast. The jungle would be unforgiving to unskilled wayfaring people, lashing out her cruel branches to tear at their skin. The leaves below their feet would serve as dinner bells to any hungry predator searching its next catch and warning drums to any prey seeking to hide from death. Each tree and every branch acted as a messenger, ferrying the sounds and vibrations of footsteps across the land and proclaiming the bearer's skills in navigating the jungle floor. The way to move in such a place was reverently and firmly, showing no fear of the jungle, but at the same time not underestimating its prowess.

And silence, too. That was important.

He planted himself in the centre of the open space, arching his back as some signal that he was not to be taken a fool of. Shuri knew this, but the way she behaved sometimes compelled T'Challa to remind his sister that he was the one in charge. Any instance of her meeting with him was not because she had forced him to, but because he was merciful enough to visit her. That or Storm somehow had convinced her husband that spending time with his "loved ones" was important as a King.

"Finally, you've arrived!"

T'Challa's eyes narrowed at the sound of his sister's voice. Half-sister, to be correct. Beside him, he could feel Ororo offer her kindest smile, clearly, she had not seen Shuri at her worst and was obviously blind to the she-beast's tricks. Storm embraced her sister-in-law with open arms and the two exchanged pleasantries. Shuri turned to face her older sibling and sighed exasperatedly, shaking her head and clicking her tongue, a habit she had picked up from her mother which annoyed T'Challa to the core.

"Arriving well after the appointed time never did well for anyone's reputation, much less a King." She sneered playfully.

"Your messenger was delayed." He replied sourly, not wanting to be teased like this in front of his wife. Storm rolled her eyes.

Shuri eyed Storm carefully, lips pursed and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. "Is that so?"

Flustered, but desperate to maintain her composure, Storm proceeded to defend herself awkwardly. In the distance, T'Challa saw a light breeze pick up, the sound of the leaves of evergreen oaks and baobabs in the vicinity mimicked her fumbling speech. Shuri's lips slowly curled into a smile and T'Challa realised she was mocking her sister-in-law. He should have been agitated, but surprisingly, he found himself amused. Perhaps it was the tiresome battle he had endured and the need to put up a regal front before the insidious guileful snake that was the Black Widow, but the Black Panther found himself unable to resist a small chuckle.

Regrettably, he realised that was a horrible decision when his wife shot him a deadly look. Aghast, she continued, stating that her husband was being uncooperative, or in her own words, like a "buffalo who has a thorn in its rectum". Notably, the expression earned her a few giggles from his sister and the sly look she shot him spoke volumes about how much she agreed with Storm.

"Enough." He gently warned her, in a tone that wasn't like how he would order his guards, but also firm enough that Storm would know not to continue.

"What is the matter of importance that you so urgently wanted to see me."

Shuri looked up at him, staring him in the eye and blatantly said, "Don't you know. Wakanda is awaiting the coronation of its new King."

Storm looked at him, beaming proudly. Although there were multiple trains of thought swirling in his mind, one, in particular, stood out the most, overwhelming all the others like a lion swarming its prey. Indeed, a ceremony to anoint him as the King was bound to happen soon and T'Challa would have guessed as much if not for the fact that this was not the usual customs of Wakanda. Certainly, the people would have wanted time to mourn and it was unlikely that they would want him to celebrate so soon. T'Challa could also not ignore the edging feeling that his people would prefer to have the treacherous man who had caused their beloved monarch's death to be found and detained and killed before having the peace of mind to finally accept him as ruler. It didn't make sense. Shuri couldn't have called him all the way down for this, there must be something more. Either she was hiding something or she had not found the right words to phrase her request. Regardless, T'Challa pressed on, determined to find out what she was concealing.

It would, tragically, not be the first time his own family had kept secrets from him. In fact, even more so, considering he was only related to them through his father. And yet, here he was, usurping all of their rights to the throne. If anything, that only made him more wary of facing his family. But Shuri, though she was fiery and impulsive, had not shown any signs of challenging him to the throne. She was supportive. Which made T'Challa suspicious of her true intentions, given that she was the one who would often request to be in charge when the siblings were together.

Unless this was a test. Given to him to see how he would react. But that was not in Shuri's nature, although he had a feeling she was not the mastermind behind this meeting. Sighing internally, he thought how best to proceed with the conversation. It did not help that he was unsure whether his sister was merely the puppet or the puppeteer behind this.

 _Why do our relationships always have to be so diplomatic?_

Taking a more cautious approached, he decided to handle this revelation in a humble light, stalling to gather more intel.

"I believe the time of mourning has not yet been fulfilled. And the terrorist has not been detained."

Shuri countered, stating that Wakanda needed a leader and if he delayed, the people would lose faith in T'Chaka's lineage.

"They have to be patient then, seeing as I have no intention of taking over until the perpetrator has been confined."

"And you are the one to confine him?" Shuri eyed him darkly, her lips suddenly turning downwards. T'Challa knew that she was not one to enjoy sitting back while her brothers were out on the field. She had, even more, reason now to order T'Challa to stay safe and do nothing, for precautionary measures. Would she assert her claim in that manner? T'Challa doubted so. Indifferent to what her response would be, he continued.

"I will avenge my father."

It was a statement, as well as a promise. Shuri pointed out the danger of him risking his life in such a manner, objectively stating that the criminal was of "irrational mind" and it seemed, to her, that the one they called the "Captain" would no sooner risk his status and position to protect his former comrade. And if the Captain defended him, then Shuri mentioned that other powered beings would come to his aid. Of this, T'Challa was clear.

The Captain, although formidable in his own right, would not stand much chance against him. His own shield was not as powerful as the technology he had access to and he was certain soldiers would come to his aid. And yet, he knew the people typically needed proof that their leader was powerful enough to tackle paramount threats. Detaining that criminal, along with a said portion of the Avengers if necessary, would surely be enough to demonstrate his skills, both as a tracker and a warrior. Satisfied that this was a strong argument, he threw his point across.

Shuri frowned, considering the options carefully. She hated when T'Challa was able to outsmart her and hated the fact that it meant that she, once again, had to step aside and away from the action. Back-up, to a Wakandan, was the last resort and was usually viewed as a sign of weakness. She knew that in ancient times, if the former King had been murdered by a wild beast, then the next in line had to single-handedly track down that beast and kill it, as a sign of vengeance and power. But that was before and this was now. Moreover, they were not tracking a beast, savage and primal, but tracking a human, intelligent and complex, if someone who had no reservations bombing a building with people of importance could be called _that_.

Storm suddenly intervened, who had been unusually quiet. Despite what little interaction they had, Shuri could already tell she was the more outspoken one and would be unafraid to voice her opinion. She had grown up on the streets and had not been trained in the art of restraint as much as both she and T'Challa had. Nevertheless, it was impressive to watch her bite back her tongue, given what strong implications this conversation had in her life. The words that fell out of Ororo's mouth, however, were words she never expected to come out of a low-life like her.

"Revenge is a way of old. Must we continue with the practice of such?"

Both of them fell silent. Storm glanced at T'Challa, seemingly disappointed that he had chosen this path for himself. Granted, she had helped him fight off the escaping convict but that was because she acted in self-defence. And in that state, if they had allowed him to run off wild, she could only imagine the punishment authorities would give to him. She remembered the way that man had looked, it was as if he had been tortured. Whatever history that man had, it would have been a dark one.

She pitied him. She, too, was once a criminal by way of circumstance and she was sure that he was one of those men. The Captain surely would not be so poor a judge of character that he would befriend someone who was morally crooked. There had to be something beyond those eyes that were as cold and steely as his metallic arm. And where she could see that, her husband had disappointedly failed. T'Challa had, instead, chosen to follow the rigid regime that required him to avenge his father. It was unlike him, but she attributed this sudden change of behaviour to his need to take action and his anger.

But surely he knew that this was a life of a man. A man who had, as far as Storm could tell, been acting against his own set of values, perhaps even against his will. And, still, T'Challa could not see. He was blinded by his sense of justice. Didn't he know that dealing with miscreants of this kind should never be done harshly and as a punishment? All they needed was support and courage to do the right thing.

And compassion, too. That was important.

Yet the same man who would do all that for a little larcenist was incapable of showing the same kindness and generosity to a man who deserved it much more. Surely her husband would have known all of this and she felt that she had a duty, both as Queen and as his wife, to remind him of this fact; nothing he did now or would do in the future could bring his father back. T'Chaka would want his son to live a life steeped in integrity and truth and she was certain that it entailed showing mercy and restraint to people who have unintentionally wronged him. She knew T'Challa had an inkling, a small prick in his conscience that he had stamped out and furiously dampened with hate and malice and wrath, but it was a stubborn prick nonetheless, that he was not right in avenging his father in this way. Storm was determined that she would fuel this prick and ensure she drove it straight into his heart, if only for his own good. Revenge was something she had experienced first-hand and it was never pleasant.

The fury of taking matters into your own hands felt sweet and enticing, luring an innocent person deeper and deeper until they have spun themselves into a web of unspeakable things, binding and binding until the same spider who had begun this mess was ensnared by her own doing. Only when fully contained would one stop and gasp at the brutal lengths she had gone to, realising too late what this all meant and displayed about their own character. This T'Challa would need to be reminded of and she was certain she could talk him out of it.

Shuri, on the other hand, was another matter to deal with. But that would be for later, she decided, she was not directly involved in the offensive.

"Revenge is necessary for justice to be fulfilled," T'Challa growled, clearly uncomfortable but only to her eyes. Shuri, while observant, was not close enough to T'Challa to pick up on when he felt nervous or stressed. Clearly, she was oblivious, given the fact that she nodded in agreement with Storm's words.

"You are a King. As much as this entails, I believe enforcement of justice is not in your field of operation, especially not in a foreign nation. Upset as you are over your father's death, I am certain emotions should not be the driving force for your actions."

"I thought you said you would support me?" T'Challa questioned her and she froze, realising that her words had come to bite her back.

"Support is-"

T'Challa brushed her off with a flick of her hand. He was seething now. Ororo began to be severely afraid. Had she overstepped? His next words tore her heart apart and made her feel like crying. She stopped herself when she noted that the sky had currently matched her inner emotions. This was one of the few times she wished T'Challa had restrained himself just as how he restrained his words in the presence of multiple dignitaries.

 _Why do our relationships always have to be less diplomatic?_

Sure, she valued honesty, but this brazenness of T'Challa's had almost taken her back. He had actually snapped at her, cutting her off like she was his guard, his female warriors that served him and no more. Was she another disposable asset to him?

 _Stop it, it's not helping. Reserve your personal thoughts aside, be the Queen he needs you to be._

She pressed on with her point, courageously letting her voice ring out in the forest, the place she knew T'Challa proudly owned and a place he would be more confident in. While he ruled the forests below, she controlled the elements. That alone was enough to shake the mighty trees. And, she hoped, change her husband's mind.

"I will support you, T'Cha, and I will be your anchor. This means that whatever decision you make, I will take it as final, regardless of whether I agree or not. But as your support and anchor, I need to make sure you don't get lost and start something you cannot recover from. I know it's easy and I know you want to see that man punished horribly. I agree that what he has done is deserving of punishment and he will and should bear the consequences of his actions. But that will be done by people who have a duty in society to do so. Not you, T'Cha. Even though you are King."

Her voice cracked as she continued, faltering a little.

"I have been where you are and you know it T'Cha, you've seen what I did. It didn't make me feel better, it made me feel worse. When that house collapsed onto that person's family members and killed those children, T'Cha...I-"

She started sobbing and raindrops started to fall, making the leaves on the trees quiver.

"I don't want you to do what I did! And if it takes standing up to you for you to see it, then so be it. But don't hurt someone because they have hurt you. It's-it's really not...worth..."

She crumpled to the floor, unable to take the weight of her past sins. Her hands, shaky and incredibly pale, covered her mouth as her whole being shook, trying in between tears to gasp for breathes, causing her chest to rise and fall inconsistently. Worried, Shuri immediately came to her side. Breaking down was not common for Ororo and it was as humiliating as it was painful. She placed a shoulder around Storm, glancing at her brother to do something.

T'Challa seemed perturbed that his wife was crying and crying up a torrential downpour. Not only that, but she was doing this after he had snapped at her, which only made him feel guilty. He decided that justice, whether or not it was decided by him, could wait, his wife needed him.

Squatting down beside her, he met her gaze while she averted it a few seconds later. Shuri stepped back to give the couple needed space. He placed his hands around her and embraced her, letting his shoulder soak up her tears. Tenderly, he ran his through fingers through her head, soothingly grazing her head with his touch until her body stopped shaking.

"I didn't mean to make you upset. You are my wife. Always will be. And I will always, always need you."

Ororo smiled. It was as if T'Challa had seen past her and saw what her true insecurity was. Though she wouldn't put it past him. Drying her tears, she stood up slowly, leaning on his arms for support. She smiled, thinking about how she currently was the one who needed an anchor.

"Guess I need your support from time to time."

"And I, your direction."

Both of them gave a small hug before holding hands. Not wishing to bring the matter up again, they revelled in the tenderness of the moment. They walked slowly to where Shuri had been standing. Storm began to apologize before Shuri waved her hand, negating the need for an apology. She pointedly stated that she had only wanted to be a part of the operation to capture the criminal, given that she was now tasked with protecting Wakanda's King.

Before any of them could reply, a small buzzing sounded in T'Challa's pocket. He turned to Storm who nodded her head, indicating her approval to pick it up. Hastily, he answered the call from his phone. He did so while frowning, apparently, it was Stark. And he had needed T'Cha's help in detaining the prisoner. He ended the conversation stating that he would be present. It was his father after all.

"T'Cha..." Storm warned, but T'Challa shook his head, explaining that their task would be to detain him, nothing more. Still, Storm was not satisfied, knowing how criminals of this scale were treated in prison.

She followed him as he made his way back to the jet they had arrived in. Looking in his eyes to see if anything was being hidden from her, she peered at him and questioned what else Stark told him. Nonchalantly, he replied, "The Avengers are divided now. It seems they, too, have differing opinions on the matter."

Staring out into the distance, she mused, "It is a difficult case. And he is an interesting man."

The last comment made T'Challa frown. "How so?"

"He seems...distant, not himself. And I believe the Captain has a reason to side with him."

 _And_ , she thought, _it's a reason that compels me to do the same._

 _..._

 **A/N: Hi everyone, look what I have! A new chapter! And a long one...hahaha anyways, next chapter will be action-packed. Although not sure when that will come out since I'm working on another story right now.**


	5. Chapter 5

Standing from his position, he saw a blue figure running out towards an empty helicopter. He smirked. The Captain had been foolish to choose his side and T'Challa was certain he would come to regret making this decision soon. Overhead, Tony and Rhodes flew past, disabling the Captain's means of escape with just a flick of their wrists. Currently, his team had the technology that was far better than any gadgets that the Captain could pull up.

Ororo, for understandable reasons, had told him she would not go. And he accepted that.

Turning his focus to the battle that was about to transpire, he scanned the field for the escaped convict. Nothing. He spied possibly thirty-three locations where they could be hiding and told Stark. In return, Stark mobilised his other members to check out the respective areas, although he warned them to take a cautious approach since he was unsure who had accompanied the Captain.

Moreover, the Witch was nowhere to be seen and while she was young, she was powerful and not one to be messed around with. T'Challa told Stark that taking her down quickly was essential, although not of priority since she was most likely to be used as a distraction. Once again he reminded everyone what they were here for, to capture the prisoner.

His attention moved back to the three gentlemen and he overheard the Captain defending his friend. Suddenly, his interest was piqued although he knew whatever the Captain had to say, it was irrelevant to what T'Challa decided to do. Leaping over the container with inhumane strength and cat-like agility, he landed beside the Captain. Near enough to make him feel threatened and cornered but at an enough distance for the Captain to be unable to attack him without taking heavy fire damage from Stark.

Looking straight at the man, he heightened himself and addressed him gruffly.

"Captain."

"Your Highness."

It wasn't a friendly exchange neither was it a threatening one. Inwardly, he scoffed. The Captain, however polite he was, was uneducated in the way to deal with royalty.

Tony continued the exchange which got heated extremely quickly. Tony pointed out that the Captain was biased towards his former friend and stated that they were only here to act as law enforcers. Tony's statement made T'Challa tightened his wrists. Surely a righteous man like the Captain would know better than to go against the law in exchange for helping his friend. Relaxing, he listened to what he had to say in defence. The Captain directed attention away from the assassin by countering with the fact that there were five super soldiers just like him somewhere.

Five super soldiers. Dormant and about to awake. If they were dangerous, then it only strengthened T'Challa's determination to capture this guy and put him in a place where he was unable to endanger to lives of others. The Captain may have been skilled, but defending his position verbally was an area in which he could not perform in.

Stepping in, the Black Widow challenged the man in blue. From the way she spoke, T'Challa assumed she had a history with him as well. He awaited the Captain's next move, anticipating that he would start attacking them any moment soon. But...where was the rest of his team? From the way he averted her gaze and turned to face Tony, it seemed as though he was stalling.

Stark, obviously realising this a few seconds later than he did, signalled for their newest recruit to enter. T'Challa had his doubts about this since it was clear he wasn't experienced and that he was still fairly young. But from the way he managed to surprise the Captain, he felt that this kid had more potential that he had expected.

What happened next just sent whatever expectations and respect that he recently formed in his mind down the drain. The kid, dressed in red spandex, immediately began a rather awkward conversation. Clearly, he had not been in a battle, much less a frighteningly large scale conflict like this one.

 _Unprofessional_. T'Challa muttered under his breath.

After some rebuke and chastening from Stark, the man in metal armour turned to address the Captain, warning him about what was about to happen, not that he was completely unaware. Stark was too passionate for his liking, it was something uncalled for in the moment and as much as he wanted to intervene, it was clear that he was not in a position to, given that he was not a part of the Avengers and had only come because he wanted to see the criminal responsible for his father's death behind bars.

Suddenly, without warning, the Captain raised his arms which had been tied with webs and an arrow that seemingly appeared out of nowhere broke his bonds. Blinking, T'Challa glanced at the direction the arrow had come from just as Tony reacted by putting on his battle mask. _So the Captain has back up._

It wasn't surprising, really.

Suddenly, the young teen started rambling about something but was cut short when a man appeared and kicked the spandex-suited boy into the air, returning the shield back to the Captain. T'Challa frowned, this was not something they had been briefed about. The Witch, he knew. The archer, he expected and he knew the Winter Soldier and the man with metal wings were somewhere, but not this person.

No matter, he could fight them all. It would only take a while before they run out of new tricks to show and even then, he was sure he could think of counters against each of them within minutes. Nonetheless, he reminded himself he was not here to attack them and wound them, although that might be necessary, he was only here for the prisoner. If he had to tear each one of them apart to get to what he wanted, he wasn't afraid of doing so. They were not under the Accords, they were nothing but a nuisance and a threat to the government. He was certain their deaths would be something that not many would be concerned about.

What they were concerned was about getting super-powered beings to cooperate and sign the Accords, or be held up and detained. And T'Challa, although he wasn't an enforcer, was certain he could at least beat them to submission. All for the sake of avenging his father.

Annoyed, Tony quickly scanned the destinations T'Challa had mentioned earlier and roll-called who was where. Rhodes followed suit and found out that Barnes was at the terminal with another man.

 _Found you._

"Barnes is mine!" He declared, rushing off towards his location before anyone could stop him. He heard the definitive hollow thud of the Captain's frisbee being thrown and immediately picked up his pace. Soon, he heard footsteps running after him, which he could only assume was the Captains. A loud swish followed by a thud on the back of his suit confirmed his suspicions. The thud was not enough to hurt, but the momentum sent him spiralling forwards. He stood up and prepared to run when the Captain flung himself onto T'Challa.

The surprise attack left him little opportunity to react and soon, he was flying behind the Captain. He let out a soft grunt as he landed, carefully placing his legs under him in a swift motion. Standing up, he gathered himself and let his irritation flow to his arms. Adrenaline was pumping and he needed it to power his reflexes.

"Move Captain." He commanded cooly, "I won't ask a second time."

Leaping in the air, he round-housed the Captain who blocked all of his blows with the shield, moving back to give himself some space. He landed and began clawing at the Captain who dodged it masterfully. He grinned as he managed to fake an attack to the right, leaving the left side exposed which he quickly punched. The Captain rolled away, keeping his shield up just as T'Challa lept on top of him. He felt a kick in the knee and that distraction was enough for the Captain to fling him backwards.

Using the momentum, he spiralled forward, beginning a series of attacks which were skillfully blocked or dodged. He had to admit, the Captain was giving him a harder time than he had imagined. Nevertheless, he had dealt with much worse. Backing off to give both of them space, he charged forward, catching the Captain off guard and giving him enough time to land several more blows. One actually scraped his face. Contented, T'Challa slid back to defensive and continued to relentlessly tackle the Captain. He dodged most of it but that was because T'Challa intended them to be missed, hoping the Captain would let down his guard enough for him to make a move.

Realising the Captain wasn't backing down, he spun up quickly and began clawing again. He swung his arms in precise moves, carefully watching where the Captain was placing his shield. As he ducked, T'Challa raised both arms and brought them hard on the edge of the shield, forcing the Captain to lower it. Quickly, he kicked the centre of the shield causing the Captain to fly backwards. Rhodes arrived a tad late as the Captain recovered enough for him to parry the silver-suited man's attack.

Taking chances, he briefly looked over at how the rest were doing and saw Wanda hurling cars out at Tony. He had no time to react however as the Captain started to get up and begun to attack him as well. Rhodes, seeing that, took the chance to strike him, but it had missed. Seeing the Captain on the ground again, T'Challa pressed forward, swinging his arms. For a moment he became confused as the Captain lept in the air mid-punch and that confusion caused him to be kicked backwards.

Standing up, he noticed something being flung at them and suddenly saw a giant truck materialize out of thin air. Panicked, he ran towards cover and lept high, the blast carrying him further than he had calculated. He hit the ground hard. Recoiling in frustration he banged his wrists on the ground, before hearing a familiar voice.

"Seems like you underestimated your enemy...". Storm smirked, giving him a hand. Instead of her usual regal attire, she was clad in battle gear, a Vibranium weave cloak with gold on its edges and leather boots. Happy to see his wife, he stood up with her help.

"And who are you?" Rhodes asked. T'Challa frowned, the way this question had been asked, it seemed flirtatious. Storm, however, took it in stride.

"I'm his wife. And you look like you got your rear end served to you quite badly."

Behind her, Black Widow grinned, clearly amused by her joke. Tony stood up and glanced at her.

"All the better. We need all the help we can get. What can you do?"

Ororo pursed her lips and levitated herself into the air with gusts that circled below her feet. In flight, she flicked her hand upwards and her husband likewise floated above them. Satisfied, she turned to the audience, who by now had their mouths either agape or smiling at the prospect of having someone who had powers join their side.

"Where to?" Monroe questioned, although she was answered by a bright light about three hundred metres away. She looked to her husband for confirmation and he nodded, telling her he was grateful she changed her mind. She sighed and stated that this was what she had to do as her husband's support. No matter how she tried, she could not persuade him otherwise.

T'Challa, for unfathomable reasons, had told her he would go. And she accepted that.

She was here now, Storm thought, might as well make the best of it. She commanded the winds to carry her to the arena. It was when she got closer, she recognised the Captain and his friend, although the rest were unknown to her. She made a mental note to ask about who they were, although she had a feeling, T'Challa would not know as well. Looking up, she realised the ray of light had originated from a red being, who looked like a cross between a mandrill and a robotic human. Of course, she had seen androids before but not as intelligent and almost human-like as this one was.

She looked at T'Challa, who only shrugged. She should have known her husband would be to preoccupied with what he had set out to do that room for curiosity and inquisition were thrown out of the way. It was what helped him remain focused and calm during distressing situations and it was something that she, unfortunately, was unable to shake off.

A short verbal exchanged happened, mostly between the android and the Captain. Beside her, she could feel T'Challa's rage radiating off of him at the sight of the Captain's friend. Considering the man now, she realised that his eyes had been different and he looked much more aware and polished. But she also saw fear and doubt in his eyes, doubt that he was worth so much. She felt sorry for him.

 _What did he go through to think that he is not worth fighting for?_

T'Challa coughed lightly, almost as if to remind her about his target. Well, Barnes was what he was here for. As far as she was concerned, she was just here to make sure her husband was alright, that her husband was not blinded by rage, which could result in the murder of multiple people, and if possible, the Captain's friend would have a fair chance of getting what he deserved, not more. Heavy goals for a woman to accomplish, but she was certain she could pull it off. The scenario before them was stand-offish and she could tell that many of them actually knew each other. It only made what was about to transpire even more tragic.

At the side, she saw the Black Widow glance hesitantly at Tony. Frowning, she nudged T'Challa. But he was staring intently at the opposing side, mostly calculating ways in which he could counter them. Suddenly, she was afraid. _What was he thinking?_

As the Captain's team edged forward, so did their side. Slowly at first, as if to reserve energy for what was about to happen. As they continued, the pace picked up and she found herself flying towards them. A young voice called out, "They're not slowing down!"

If not for the fact that she had been brought up in the underworld, she would have been appalled at Tony's choice to pick a kid to join this fight. A youngling? Sure, from what little she witnessed of the battle earlier, this youngling had capabilities, and Storm knew, that if he had not spoken at all, she would have mistaken him for a grown man, seeing as how his reflexes and skills were insanely expert in nature. But it was clear from the way he handled himself and the need for his actions to be affirmed that he was a kid.

 _Unprofessional_ , she muttered. T'Challa, who heard that, chuckled softly as if to tell her that he shared her sentiments. As the distance between the two factions neared, she had a nauseating feeling in her gut that she was not doing the right thing. She shrugged it off and turned to T'Challa, nonverbally asking him who he was intending to pick off. He snorted and continued running. _Isn't it obvious?_

As the gaps closed, both sides launched a full out attack and it was only then, Storm managed to access each and every one's powers. The girl in red could levitate things, that man with googles could fly and the man in red...she wasn't sure yet. It took her awhile, but she got over the shock quickly and summoned a gust of wind that blew the soldier backwards. It was powerful enough that it sent the two people nearest to him flying as well. She landed and proceeded to attack him with T'Challa. When he moved back, she wove in and as she wove out, he was ready to take over. They were perfectly synced and both of them relentlessly punished the man.

Storm looked around and realised the kid was under some fierce attack. She glanced at T'Challa who gave her a nod. He continued to press forward and she shot him a warning look. _Don't kill him._

She took to the air and scanned the ground, looking for the source of the red magical strings that surrounded floating objects. As she did so, she blocked an incoming blow from the bird-man and threw him back with a gust of air. She didn't intend to use her lightning now, it would injure someone severely. And as T'Challa had pointed out, they were here to capture, not kill. She had hoped that he truly meant that when he said it and that was what convinced her to come. That it was a capture mission, not a kill mission, made her conscience clear. At least there would be professionals to handle how best to discipline the man, instead of implementing personal laws and policies.

Just as the thought left her mind, she spied a girl clad in red, crouched behind a silver truck, looking anxiously at her teammates. Red balls of similar energy were in her hands and she used them to control those floating objects.

 _Found you._

She landed in front of the girl, smirking at the woman's shocked expression. She looked fairly young to be out here as well and she was, for a moment, unsure of how to handle this. Before she could introduce herself, her wrists were bathed in red light and she found herself flung back. Using the winds to stabilize her, she threw a ball of wind at the girl, who blocked it with a scarlet shield.

"Not the best way to introduce yourself." She commented dryly, getting ready to cover the girl in fog. Her wrists and hands started filling with power and she relished in the fact that the weather was listening to her hands. It made her feel powerful. And apparently, the girl in red thought so too, hands filling up in red bolts of matter.

"Your people call me the Witch." She hissed. Her accent, it seemed Russian. How did she get entangled in this mess? And at her age, her powers were something she never thought was possible. Even Jean Grey had very little control over her powers and even now, though she was a fully-fledged mutant if she ever saw one, her powers still rocked in and out of her control.

She had little time to ponder as the girl flung a piece of concrete at her, threatening to bring her down from the height that she was hovering from. Raising up her hands, she commanded the fog to dissipate and was replaced by swirling gusts that rose upward, forming a barrier that parried the cement. Feeling annoyed by her attitude, she summoned a ball of lightning in her hands, a voltage enough to stun a human for at least a few minutes.

Releasing the ball, the spark flew towards the scarlet witch, who reacted in time by drawing up a shield of her own. As she did so, Storm conjured another gale that swept towards the lady, who was unable to counter that. Flying backwards, she raised her hands upward and brought them down, directing rivers of red light around her feet, attempting to stabilize herself. She gasped, faltering slightly as she commanded the tendrils to grip her tighter. Containing and holding things down were definitely not her forte as she struggled to even raise another shield against the gust.

The more she tried to focus on the shield, the more she felt herself sliding backwards, so Wanda decidedly focused her mental energy onto holding her feet down. She glanced up at the woman in black, clearly more experienced with magic and definitely more capable than she was. Panic filled her and for the first time since she had her powers, she thought she was completely at someone's mercy. It was a helpless feeling which she did not enjoy.

Looking up, she saw the woman twist her lips into a smile and clouded her with thick fog, making her feel more disoriented. Before the giant cloud closed in on her, she heard the woman's voice, snarling and rasping as though it was an elder rebuking a younger student.

"That may be so, but they call me Queen."


	6. Chapter 6

Storm left the girl blinded in silver fog and turned to help her husband, who by now, was still mid-way tackling Barnes. T'Challa wove in and out, dodging his way out of the man's punches and kicks. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the Captain's friend lock her husband in a choke hold. The two men stumbled backwards before T'Challa found his footing and brought his free arm to Bucky's neck. Straining, she flew towards them before she felt herself being pulled back. By her hair, of all things. And Wakandan women were fond of their hair.

 _Someone's going to get hurt real bad._

She turned to see a red spot grow in size. Distracted, she almost missed how this new guy swung his leg upwards to meet her face. She stepped back as the foot hovered millimetres away from her face. Time seemed to slow as she countered this move with a move of her own, lunging forward and beckoning a gale to throw this man off balance. He flew back with a gasp before suddenly disappearing. Ororo paused in her tracks, unsure of where he went.

She had seen her fair share of unusual abilities and gimmicks but this one was something else. Figuring out powers was still a skill she lacked dearly. If only she had Professor X's telepathy, or at the very least, T'Challa's abilities to seemingly "read" people on a whim. Then she would already have figured what this guy could do. Now, she had only mere seconds to figure out what his skillset was before he launched another attack. She kept herself on guard, turning now and then to make sure he had as minimal chance as a lion on an elephant hunt of succeeding in taking her down.

Could he have the power of invisibility? Teleportation? What was with the whooshing sound? Was it a portal to another dimension?

As the questions whizzed by in her mind, she heard the same whooshing sound that accompanied the red spot earlier. She turned just to see the man in a red suit and a silver helmet grow slightly taller. She grimaced as he launched his hand towards her face, throwing up a shield of wind in the knick of time before he managed to land a hit. Surprised by this, he moved back, in time for her to kick him in the side.

He coughed lightly and stumbled back...and with that, he was suddenly gone. Except, now, Storm understood. He had shrunk. He had powers to alter his size but it was through his suit no doubt. Mutants wouldn't normally don on such a complex array of costumes if they didn't need to. Imagine the heat in there!

But now wasn't the time to criticize others' taste in fashion, she was in the middle of some battle. Hearing the whooshing sound to the right, she sent a gust of air that way a tad too early. It missed him completely and he brought his arms down upon her. She was too slow to activate her powers, so she used her hands instead. With a thump, their forearms collided. It was then, Ororo made a mental note that she would have to start training her stamina and arm strength with the Dora Milaje again. As much as disliked the idea of _her_ King being surrounded by an all-female team of bodyguards, they proved to be useful in very crucial times.

 _They certainly would have been useful now._

Monroe wondered why her husband had come alone, although she imagined Okoye and Nakia would have frowned upon engaging in such a fight in the open public. T'Challa's idea of donning on the suit and running around in foreign countries would have put a frown on any Wakandan's face; they would much rather have a King who focused on the nation's needs rather than the rest of the world. And the fact that he would probably have brought along some of Shuri's technology if the Dora Milaje were to come. Not a good idea, given her country's low profile and reputation for being in a constant cycle of poverty amidst an economically barren continent that was her homeland. Yes, she was glad her husband still had the rational thought to resist bringing the Wakandan warriors here. Besides, this man only needed one woman to accompany him on small trips like this. Her lips curled upward at the thought of being able to spend some time with her beloved, away from Wakanda and the "girl-squad".

But if they had appeared, she was sure that all of them would have apprehended the Captain's team even before this thing started.

 _Or at least persuade T'Challa to stop this foolish recklessness._

A foolish recklessness that she somehow got entangled into...all thanks to her husband. She sighed as she locked eyes with this "Scott"? Was that this man's name?

"I'm Scott, nice to meet...you" He heaved out, gasping breathlessly. Guess he was as unfit as her. Not that he looked that fit anyway.

"I'm the Queen of Wakanda...hi", she responded wryly, before raising her leg and bringing it up to his lower torso. He recoiled in shocked and muttered something before she flipped her arms upward and knocking him to the ground. She turned her gaze to where T'Challa was, upset that this man in a ridiculous suit had caused her to be distracted for so long. When was the last time she had needed to fight? She was certainly getting rusty.

She flew towards T'Challa, the shape of black contrasted sharply with the white floor of the airport runway. She landed beside him before the glare of the sun's rays reflected by Barnes' arm caught her eye. Her hand reflexively moved upwards to cover her eyes. She heard her husband growl softly...he couldn't possibly be injured, so what made him so irritated?

"He said he didn't do it. That man-" T'Challa spit out, fury ringing out in every word. How could this man, if he was as innocent as Rogers had said, still deny his own crime? Did he not have any sear of guilt?

"Relax", he heard his wife beside him say nonchalantly. He shot her a glare, but whatever talk that needed to take place between the two of them would have to be reserved for later. Right now, they had this reprehensible miscreant to deal with. The more he was reluctant to admit his fault, the more T'Challa wanted to maim him.

 _Someone's going to get hurt real bad._

Side-stepping forward, he bounded towards the man, eyes burning with fury. Beneath the mask, he was scowling vehemently. It was one thing to do something so heinous, another to deny it and plead innocent. The Captain's friend had a twisted sense of justice. And, the Panther decided, so did the Captain, regardless of whatever heroic claims this egotistic 'egalitarian' had. Some Captain he was indeed.

He scarcely had time to continue his thoughts when there was a large whooshing sound just to his right. To his horror, he saw the man in the red suit grow to become the size of easily ten leopards. He turned to Ororo, who had her mouth agape in confusion. He silently thanked his forefathers for necessitating the need for Wakandan warriors to don on a mask; no one would know he was equally shocked at this turn of events. He covered his face with his claws just as he saw a trailer fly in his direction. He swore he heard Monroe let out a cry although, given the chaos that had just broken out, he wasn't so sure. The mask, however much protection it offered, didn't fare so well in terms of heightening his ability to hear. He hissed softly, bracing himself for impact.

A red and golden blur swept in front of him and the impact never came. The red synthezoid, T'Challa had forgotten his name, had manoeuvred in front of him and had taken all of the truck's impact. Nodding to express his thanks, he gestured to Ororo while Vision flew off to tackle the looming threat that had appeared. His wife anxiously flew by his side, knowing not to pop him the _question._

Were he in Wakanda, he would have called for his team to regroup and assess the current situation. But Tony and his friend were high up in the air, there was little probability they would listen to him now.

"What now?" Ororo mused, clearly shaken by this new information.

"You've seen mutants before, this shouldn't be a surprise." He growled, not meaning any harm to his beloved but frustrated that they would be held back by this atrocity. His wife shot him a side-look, mildly upset at his words but sympathetic at the same time.

"Go, I...we can handle this." She flew into the air, leaving him with no choice but to follow the Captain and his friend, who by now were sprinting ahead towards a quinjet located at least a few hundred metres from where he was standing. If not for the red monster, he would have apprehended the fugitives by now. Inhaling, he launched himself in that direction, hoping he could catch them before they ever got near their escape route.

If only he had Shuri's blasters. Or at least one of the Dora Milaje with him here. Their aim and strength would have been enough to tackle the Captain even from such a distance. And they could rely on their silver spears. He, unfortunately, was now stuck with this bulletproof suit.

 _They certainly would have been useful now._

No matter, he was already halfway there when the building the two criminals were headed for started to collapse. A bright yellow beam had shot out from the android and had caused the pillars to fall. He hardly had time to rejoice when the crumbling debris was held in the air as ruby energy nets held the material above the ground. No, he thought. He didn't need to turn around to see who was the one responsible for this.

The Witch...she sure was powerful. Could she have held her own against his wife? T'Challa shivered as he witnessed the young girl, who seemed to be relatively new to her own abilities, hold up what must have been 40 tons of concrete, metal and glass. Gritting his teeth, he sped up towards the Captain, prowling towards his targets with speed only the heart-shaped herbs could provide. The distance between them closed. T'Challa knew he would reach them in a few seconds and painfully kept up his speed.

Suddenly, the glowing red nets disappeared and the building started to collapse. The three of them tumbled forward, Barnes and Rogers launching forward whilst he rolled to the side and slid neatly under a stack of falling poles, but not before something hit his head. Flattening himself so he would not be seen, he lay silently on the floor for a short while, blinking back the numb ringing sound in his head. He tried to shake off the feeling quickly, picking himself up slowly as he quietly eyed Barnes. Without a sound, he crouched beneath some rubble, watching what they would do. His eyes shifted to another figure standing between them, Ms Romanoff. He was pleasantly surprised, she seemed to have outsmarted them. She would make a good warrior.

He wondered if she was capable to convince them to hand themselves over.

 _Or at least persuade Barnes to stop this foolish recklessness._

After all, he had seen how she could be very manipulative and was certainly adroit at working her way into people's heads. He warily eyed her, creeping closer to the trio. She seemed to be engaged in some sort of talk with them...persuading them to stop perhaps. Slowly, she raised her hand. Was it...T'Challa glared at her fist. Something clicked...whatever she was about to fire wasn't meant to stop them. It was aimed at him.

He launched forward, cursing under his breath as a wave of electricity shot up from his torso. Vibranium couldn't protect him from the paralyzing effects of this. At least he had learnt to bear with being tasered. He grimaced and watched, powerless to stop Barnes from escaping. Curse this woman and her devious tricks. He took a step forward, only to be stopped again by her bullets. He glared intensely at the Widow, where exactly did her loyalties lie? Taking another step forward, he froze, just as Barnes and his friend got into the jet and ascended. He felt the shock subside and he leapt up towards the plane, grabbing the wheels of the quinjet. He growled as the quinjet flew higher, realising that he should let go before it ascended any higher.

His free hand clawed at the bottom desperately, threatening to damage the engine, but it was no use. It only served to scratch a bit of paint. He let go and tumbled to the ground, rising to glare threateningly at Natasha. He stepped towards her, fists curled. He breathed heavily, this was not how he had envisioned this to go.

"I said I would help you find him, not catch him." She said in almost a half-smile. T'Challa bit his lip. With restrained anger, he spoke his next words.

"Helping a fellow fugitive, Ms Romanoff is not a wise position to put yourself in. Something about being under the court's jurisdiction?"

"Yes, but I had to do it. For a friend."

He scoffed. Letting personal matters take priority over one's duty...that was a flaw that he thought this lady would never make. Walking off, he paused to face her one more time.

"Let's see if your friend can help burst you out of jail."


	7. Chapter 7

Throwing his mask on the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck vigorously. He paced quickly around several times, sighing loudly and plonking down on the edge of the bed, hands buried in his face. He had failed. He had failed to bring in those fugitives, failed to avenge his father. How was he ever going to face his people, his country? Barnes and Captain had escaped and he had no clue where they would be. He had been so quick to find and incarcerate him, he rushed out of his country without much gear aside from his suit. Not even a tracker, which he felt would have greatly assisted in locating the two men right now.

Ms Romanoff seemingly had no idea what or where the two men could have gone, the others refused to budge and T'Challa wasn't into using torture on them. And Stark, however clever and knowledgeable he claimed he was, did not know their location either. It was a dead end. He had let his guard down and the Black Widow had somehow managed to make a fool of him.

 _What would his father have said?_

He felt a familiar warmth caress his shoulders from behind. Mustering as much strength as he could to force out a smile, he leaned into the embrace of his wife. As much as he believed his wife was gifted, she had a mystical way of removing frustration away just by her touch alone. Well, _some_ frustration, not all. Miraculously, she was silent. No "I-told-you-so" or "you should've listened" speeches or the like. Just quiet. The way he knew she knew he liked. As her hands softly rubbed his shoulders, he raised his hands to meet hers and both of their fingers interlocked mid-way. She rested her head on his shoulder and he felt the bed under him rise and fall in three rapid successions as she got up on the bed and knelt behind him, reaching around to balance herself and almost falling off in the process, resulting in a short squeal.

He tightened his grip on her arms and immediately held her right shoulder, ensuring she would not bump her head or collapse on the ground. He turned to glance at her and she shot him an embarrassed look. Who knew this thief of the Wakandan streets, the same who could slip in and out of guarded rooms unnoticed, who could land inches away from Dora Milaje warriors and remain undetected still, who could run through the crowds and jump over and around carts would be so clumsy!

He mumbled for her to be careful, Stark would clearly not want another casualty on his team.

She remarked back that "falling off a bed" was not something to be of a great concern. T'Challa smirked and cocked an eyebrow.

"Really?" He spun around and hoisted her up, threatening to drop her. She laughed, throwing her head back, chuckling while commanding her husband to put her down. She added jokingly that Queens are not to be handled in such a manner. He placed her down on her back, in the center of the bed, remarking that he was just moving her to safety, as per typical safeguarding protocol and as was the duty of the Black Panther to safeguard Wakanda's greatest treasure.

"Well," she sat up and placed a hand on his lap, letting her white hair fall across her shoulders as she locked eyes with him, "Wakanda's greatest treasure is safest next to its King."

Both of them smiled and she lifted a finger to his chin. The man allowed her to do so for a few seconds, before brushing her hand away, disguising it with a desire to hold both her hands as in a swift motion, he brought both of their hands to his and clasped them together, adding a kiss to ensure she would not have any other suspicions. But Wakandan women were known for their sharp wits and sharper eyes, his beautiful wife was no exception to this. He watched, internally sighing as his wife's expression changed. She dropped her smile and the light in her eye became clouded with worry. She looked away, trying to contain her disappointment at the ruined moment between the two.

 _She was trying to make me forget, wasn't she?_

T'Challa eyed her wordlessly. At least, she had still allowed him to hold her hands; an indication that she was upset, but only mildly. His thoughts drifted back to the incident before. His brain started cramming for solutions on how best to find the two runaways. Those who were currently detained in cells weren't talking and he was certainly the last person, aside from that kid in a red latex suit, they would be willing to co-operate with.

"Are you still trying to capture them?" Storm asked, musking her sadness with laces of worry and care.

He nodded, briefly opening his mouth in an attempt to justify his reasoning, but decided against it upon seeing Ororo's eyes. It was the look of one who had given up trying to convince a stubborn man. There was no need for defending his position.

Instead, he settled for something else.

"Murderers must bear the consequences of their actions."

"Murderers?" She probed, "Only one of them killed your father, _mpenzi_. Yet you have attributed _your_ sentence to both."

T'Challa glanced at her silently. She turned away, unable to match his fierce gaze. He had a way of looking at someone with the intensity of the Savannah heat and the chilling-ness of the Jabari mountains. Not even Logan could match him. Though that was a meeting she would love to see. She peeped at him, pulling her hands away and placing them on top of his. She noted how warm his fingers felt, the bumps and troughs of his skin had become more defined since they had wed. Her eyes rested on the Vibranium-silver ring and her mind took her back to when he first proposed. In front of his family. And his father. He was the first one to congratulate the pair and give his blessings upon hearing the news. The kind-hearted man, now reduced to ashes in a burial urn.

And here she was, trying to convince her husband to refrain from avenging his untimely death. The death of her beloved father-in-law, the man who had permitted this scum of Wakanda to be assimilated amongst its highest ranks. The man who vehemently stood for this marriage regardless of what his other officials were saying. Yet, she seemed unwilling to avenge him.

 _What would Queen Ramonda have said?_

Would she have permitted it? Would she want her son to chase after two men, suspects, without giving them a free trial and carry out justice on his own terms? Was that the son she had raised him to be? Or was that something she would frown upon?

Honestly, Storm wasn't sure. All she knew was that something, just something, felt off. That the man, if he truly was at fault, was somehow not to be blamed. Perhaps, it was intuition telling her not to give chase, perhaps it was her compassion, telling her that this man deserved a second chance. Something inside her seemed to tell her this was not right. This wasn't justice. And what of the Captain? His friends? She had seen what they had done, she would have called them heroes. They had done much good, stopping corrupt men and high-level threats, much like she had done with the X-men. Only for them, they had gotten more coverage and popularity, the X-men operated in top secrecy, unsure of how the world would react.

Nothing changed much now, given that the Accords had appeared out of the need for governmental control. And, while it wasn't experimentation of any sorts, it was a testimony to how commonfolk would always want some sort of control over the uncontrollable. Which was foolish enough on its own and she was nonplussed to find out that T'Challa had acceded to the initial proposals of those documents. Upset as she was over that, she couldn't change it now. Her husband had done what he had to do in order for Wakanda to be at peace and satiate the desires of the United Nations, however selfish and unreasonable some of their wants may be.

"Choose wisely."

She glanced up and looked at him in the eyes. It was a statement not made to intimidate, nor to make him change his mind. It wasn't a threat, neither was it a warning. She wasn't sure why she said it, only that she knew she had to. T'Challa, despite remaining as calm as ever, was still very emotional and she did not want him to make a choice he would come to regret. Perhaps she was hopelessly trying to remind him to not let his anger get the better of him, perhaps it was a futile shot at asking him to think through logically, as he would have done with any other case.

Whatever she just said, somehow, it struck something within him, for his eyes no longer were cold and fiery. They were...worried. Strange, though not uncommon, he certainly did not get worried over most things. Stressed, perhaps. Fear, definitely. Not worry. Never worry. It was more than being worried about not avenging his father, over returning home to become a failure and disgrace to the nation. Not worry about losing the throne, that was something he was confident he could secure.

Was he falling apart? Was he...

"What if I don't?"

No, she felt relieved. His voice was still strong, still grounded. She chided herself for doubting her husband in the first place. Wakandan warriors were renowned for keeping their cool regardless how bleak the situation seemed. He wasn't about to cave in over losing an airport skirmish to colonizers.

Responding to him, she replied, "If you fall, then I will catch you."

And at that moment, she felt grateful. To have someone to hold, to cherish and keep. And for someone to hold her as well.

 _She wasn't trying to make him forget, was she?_

That was an impossible task. T'Challa would not forget his family easily. But somehow, she truly wished he would not act. That he would send one of his Doras and not do anything about it. Sure he wasn't King yet, but she knew Okoye would definitely agree. And what of Nakia? She would be more than thrilled to obey her King's orders. Her prowess as a wardog would be most suited for tracking and eventually incarcerating these "criminals". There was no need for T'Challa to be there, he could have just sent someone else. Whatever avenging he had to do could be done once Bucky and the Cap were behind bars. But she was very much incapable of changing his mind, especially on matters like this.

Instead, she settled for something else.

Leaning back on the bed, she dimmed the lights and settled down to rest for the day.

"Sleep, T'Cha, you need to rest."

"Mmmm...you know I can't rest until my father is avenged."

He reached over to hold her hand, sitting upright against the backrest. Staring off into the distance, he worked out strategy upon strategy upon strategy, never satisfied until he was sure all loose ends were tied up. Closing her eyes, she smiled. Still as stubborn as always.


	8. Chapter 8

This was insane. All of it was insane.

Flying in a cloudy storm was insane. Tracking an armoured man in low-visibility whilst remaining hidden was insane. And worst of all, following her beloved husband into this burgeoning mess was absolutely and undeniably insane.

In a sense, the situation now she was in made her almost chuckle, had not the rain been sliding down her back and the wind blowing into her eyes. Sure she could make the wind avoid her face, but that was hard work. And she needed to focus on covering the ship T'Challa was in just enough so that Stark would not suspect a thing.

She turned now to face her husband, a blithe look on his face. The one he always wore during missions like these.

Insane was not a term that she thought she would use to describe Wakanda's monarch. It certainly wasn't a term _anyone_ would use to describe any monarch. Save for the onerous ones who typically beheaded peasants on a whim, depending on their mood. And T'Challa was far from being a tyrannical ruler. Which made the term "insane" almost synonym to him. Well, almost, because what kind of King would insist on riding a jet to follow this colonizer some thirty miles from the comforts of their nation and what kind of a King would, instead of delegating such espionage to his own professional spies. Ha, Nakia would be a lot quieter than her husband would. Nakia was the paragon of an intelligence agent. She was more persuasive, not so pensive, driven by instinct, less stubborn...or not. Regardless, she definitely felt no need to persuade others to company her on her missions...unlike a certain someone.

 _She should have at least been grateful he takes her into consideration when planning things._

She sighed, it must have been the rain. As much as she would have said that she enjoyed dancing in the rain and all that ludicrous nonsense, she hated the sensation of rain falling on her. She had enough of sleeping in muddy filled streets and under tents with holes in their roof when she was a child. Only the sheltered would want to go out into the rain. Only the fool would want to step outside in the thunder.

Yet, here they were.

It didn't help that the weather had always affected her emotions and that was typically how she managed to control them. She had tried other methods and T'Challa, the darn fool, had suggested she tap into something else. But nothing worked like anger, fear or happiness did. So that was what she used.

That was why she couldn't use her powers for an extended period of time without needing some much-needed rest after. Her husband knew this, of course, and he would have refused to bring her along if not for the fact that he needed some cover. The only mutant he knew with these sorts of powers was his own wife. To him, it made perfect sense. Why shouldn't it? A wise king makes full use of whatever resources and allies that he has to achieve his objectives. Still, the inner larcenist in her was crying out against this. She had been trained not to trust people who used her.

But she had agreed anyway, the royal side of her countered. A Queen fulfils her promises whatever it costs. She had an obligation to fulfil this one and since she had promised her husband, of all people, she had no choice but to go along.

It definitely didn't help that her mind was as cloudy as the sky before her.

"Focus. He is going down." She heard her husband state flatly, nose wrinkled in annoyance. Not directed at her, she consciously told herself. It was at the red dot descending around a snowy white plain. The jet turned invisible as T'Challa turned on the shields, the light flickering around the edges scarcely noticeably unless one stared really hard. As the icy peaks appeared around her, the drips of water started to freeze around her skin. Waving a hand around, she summoned a breeze to pick off the specks of ice and snow.

She eyed the red dot from afar, the fumes from its engine marking it out against the white terrain around them. She lowered herself onto the ground, beside a barely visible patch of ice that had just melted suspiciously by itself. The jet remained hidden save for a small space which T'Challa hopped out of, already donning his helmet.

 _Disappointing, but necessary._

He never had the habit of kissing her goodbye, especially during missions. It would be distracting, he said, and she agreed. Not that she understood, however, she just agreed. He was stubborn and she could hardly hope to change his mind in matters like this.

He walked off, wordlessly. Whatever that he had to said was already said anyway, prior to the mission during the briefing. Turning back to nod at his wife, he approached the inside of the cavern soundlessly. Behind him, his wife followed at a distance. They entered together, Ororo's footsteps in the snow disappeared as her shoes hit the cold cavern floor. All of its sounds were absorbed by the ground below them, almost as if the stone floor was...metal. He looked down, so it was. Which meant it wasn't an ordinary cavern.

This is insane. All of it was insane.

Not so much that it wasn't possible to refurbish a cavern so that it would become a base of operations, he'd seen it done in the Wakandan mines. But the technology that the colonizers had then, surely it would not have enough to erect a base of this magnitude. He looked at Storm, who didn't seem impressed with this.

"We have this in Wakanda, dear. And, in case you were wondering, the _colonizers_ have the capability to evolve as much as we do."

She sounded upset. But, he was possibly projecting his own anger into what his wife was doing or saying.

Clicking his lips several times to clear his mind, he softly approached the small corridor where he heard voices talking. Two men, conversing in strained voices. And then, out of the shadows, he saw them. One, in a suit of red, the other in a suit of blue. But they didn't see him. With the suit blending into the charred grey walls around them, it was an impossible task for a man to spot him and Monroe here. Even impossible for someone who was supposedly a super soldier of sorts. He glanced at the pair and noticed that there was another, a man with brown locks pointing a gun at the red-suited man. The one they called "Bucky"...or Barnes. Whichever alias he had, it didn't matter to him. He would always be the stone-hearted nihilist that slaughtered his own Baba.

His metal arm still glistering in the fading light coming in from the roof above. It bounced around, highlighting the dust that collected around the room. As the white specks settled on the floor around them, he settled in his heart that today, those deserving of death would finally be put to rest, in graves where they belong. Certainly, this cavern would make for an impressive burial. Death beside the Captain, the highest honour no doubt. He took in the sights of the massive mountainous interior before them. And only then did T'Challa notice this was a Russian facility. Had they really flown this far? It wouldn't have been surprising given how fast he knew his own personal jet could move.

 _Distracted, T'Challa!_

He reprimanded himself for letting his mind drift. He shifted his eyes back to the trio, noticing the three of them starting to move inwards, into a room of sorts. Distractedly, they left the door open, providing an ingress for the Wakandan pair. He gestured to his wife, who trailed behind.

Her expression was cold, one that was seldom her nature. But her usual jocund smile would not be fitting for a mission such as this. No, he was glad his spouse was treating this as serious as he was.

He listened in to them, staying behind the door as his wife took the other side. As a Wakandan woman, she was adept at sneaking around and eavesdropping on others, more so as an ex-convict. This was really nothing for her. And it was nothing for him, save for the fact that he had an obligation to fulfil, as was what tradition dictated.

He could hear his father's voice now, impeding him from running about in that ridiculous suit, rejecting all that he had been taught as a child; grace and dignity, poise and authority, distance and ferocity. All of it ditched in a costume and a mission that forced him to interact with commoners. And white commoners at that. His father would have none of this. Such idiocy was unheard of among the Wakandan elders. They all would not have gone after this man themselves but would have sent a warrior on their behalf. But they all were aged and barely capable of leaping across buildings and flying jets on their own. Not even tradition could give these elders the strength to rise and repeatedly bash this man to his knees.

 _He should at least be grateful his father had entrusted this mantle to him_.

He sighed and with a deep breath, moved closer. Not to attack, just to listen. The closer he got, the more he felt the memories of his father gush through his mind like water through the rock crevices at the Falls. He told himself to hold it in...sentiments were never helpful in situations like these. It must have been the mountainous altitude and the dust around him that made his eyes start to tear. Curse this, how could his emotions have gotten a hold of him like this? He couldn't afford to break at this moment.

Yet, here he was.

It didn't help that he was wearing a mask and that he could not move to wipe his tears. Or that his breathing now became jagged and fogged up his sights. He let out a soft frustrated vent. His sister better come up with something to stop the mask from becoming so misty.

He stopped to listen. There was another man now. Talking about how "they" brought the three of them here. T'Challa froze. They. The people in the containers. Dead. All of them. The man. Brought the three of them here. Without them knowing. This was a set-up. He had been set-up. It was all a set-up.

 _No. No, no, no._

How could he have fallen for that trick? Did that mean...no, it definitely meant that he was the real person behind the bombing. That, or he used Barnes in some way to...

What had he done?

He watched shocked, oblivious to his wife who practically was shivering, hands over her mouth, grotesquely disturbed by this man. This man who had single-handedly fooled the King of Wakanda. This man who had dragged the Avengers down to their knees. This man had caused a total uproar across the globe and turned the entire globe upside down, all hundred and seventeen countries. This man with nothing but a notebook and a vengeful thirst for blood. All he had to do was set off a bomb. But it had long been ticking, hadn't it? Since the first Avengers was formed...no this man was just a catalyst.

He watched, as the feed played. December 16, 1991. But he didn't need to watch it to connect the dots. It was always Barnes. No, it was his body. Not his mind. Not Barnes...that poor man was just a puppet. Used and abused by many who needed a scapegoat.

What had _he_ done?

He eyed Ororo who looked at him, eyes furrowed and biting her lower lip. She was unsure of what to do now. Now that the truth was out, she didn't seem to like what was happening. What her eyes saw or what her ears heard was outrageously unjust. Plus, she wasn't one for mind-control.

He was not, either. There were no qualms when it came to things like this, mind-control was never an option in his country. It was a disgraceful act; subverting a human, capable of will and responsibility, an individual who has always been possessing rights, to a base state worse than a trained beast. No this was beyond and below all his moral standards and what he stood for as a King. Not even the animals in Wakanda would have received such treatment.

And yet, here he was.

He shuddered at what this man must have gone through. So the Captain was right. It wasn't his friend. And to react in such a way...he would have too, had Monroe been wrongly acused of treason.

T'Challa flinched at his wife's touch.

"They are fighting."

 _Should we go?_

"No."

He answered, eyeing the vacant window where that debauched and malefic monster once stood. An ephiphany dawned on the King. Like Stark and the other Americans, he had made a mistake in framing the Captain's friends. No, he needed to set things right. And, he most definitely would. Needless to say, there would not be any blood, innocent or guilty, shed today.

 _Disappointing, but necessary. Absolutely necessary._


	9. Chapter 9

On the icy mountains, a lone man sat by the edges of the cliff. The snow around him contrasted his black trench coat and nothing but the wind was there to keep his company. He needed this seclusion; it had been awhile since he had this peace and quiet. Quiet, he always had. But peace? It only came when he had seen how Earth's mightiest heroes crumbled at the feet of an ordinary man.

 _Vengeance fuels a man for miles._

He smiled. Not out of happiness; it was a release of every pent-up guilt and anger he should have felt. All that pain he'd been trying to numb, turning his heart cold and freezing any ounce of emotion that peaked through. All of it, buried beneath the agendas and killings and death of others. Some of it necessary, others not so. Ah, but if only they would have cooperated! Things could have been different for them, perhaps even for him. Who knew that HYDRA agents were so stubborn. He expected it to be so; the same way one expects an old, dusty, senile man to fall for whatever tricks you play on him. Or the way you expected a haphazard cacophony of egos and powers to falter when confounded with the need to be accountable. And in that release, he felt a small tug. A tug that he had suspended for a while. A tug he had tried to ignore since the start. A tug that now had ascended into a strain, yanking at his heart, his soul, his mind.

He looked down.

There, in his palms was a small black box, the thing that tugged at his heart so often. Although, it wasn't just the black box. There was something inside. Someone inside. Someone he thought had long been gone until he remembered this small memory that had been preserved of her. Not quite her, but for a dead woman, this meant everything to him.

He pressed play, the voice of his dead wife ringing in his ears. He had memorized all the words, even recited it to sleep some days, but nothing prepared him enough for what he had to do now. The last memory of his family, all of which was in a tiny device. How quaint, wasn't it? That every moment, every single kiss, each goodbye and every hug was summed up and stored in this box. That all evidence that someone in this world had existed and left whatever small imprint they could leave could be deleted with a single push. That all the genetic probabilities, each strain, each code that made up his family could be destroyed just like that. He had thought it impossible once, not even daring to believe the thought, let alone entertain the fact that he and his beloved would one day be gone, would one day fade away like the snow that disappeared every summer.

Now, the thought of dying didn't seem so bad. However he was to go, he would not let his family's name, the memory of his beloved, be tainted with the injustice he would serve if he ever did get caught. No, he would die here and today. If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Or the day after that. Whenever it came, he was ready. However it would come, he was ready. If it came suddenly, like a seizure or an avalanche, he was ready. If it came slowly, creeping up on him from hunger or the cold, he was ready. He was ready for it. And there was no other way to go aside from dying on a mountain, cold and away from everyone. Lonely and scared. Dark and uncertain.

Like how his wife had gone out.

Snuffed, like a candle. Whisked out of his life. Alongside his father, his son. His baby son.

It was a war that got him here. And it was a war that satiated his need for justice. He smiled, thinking about how the heroes were now busy scuffling about to notice his escape. Stark was too concern getting his vengeance, Barnes was too busy bearing his guilt, and the Captain...oh, the Captain! He was too busy trying to be the righteous, glorious leader the world had portrayed him to be, he forgot he had been hiding this dark secret from his confidante, his second in command. And now, now it was too late.

Vengeance could fuel a man for miles.

The Avengers had always been a time bomb ticking, he simply had been the catalyst. And now they were all squabbling away, hacking away at each other so long it seemed as if there was nothing else that mattered except-

Oh.

But not all of them were occupied.

He scowled. This one wouldn't kill him. He was far too kind to do anything to him. Far too wise. Too bad. He was having such fun manipulating him. A wise king and his puppeteer, a peasant conman. He shuffled the black box in his hand, eager to meet the one he had been toying with all this while. With his back towards him, he straightened himself and stolidly pressed the button. Not a tear welled up in his eye, but his heart felt like it was wrenched from his chest.

Well, now, every trace of his family had disappeared save him. And soon, he would disappear too. Should all go according to plan.

"I almost killed the wrong man."

He smirked...or would have had the situation been lighter. Not that there was no humour in how both ended up being victims. How the both of them ended up losing people they loved to uncaring vigilantes who had greater plans. How both lost family in tragedies that should not have been had people decided not to enact justice. Yes, it was funny. But it wasn't a laughing matter.

"Hardly an innocent one."

Behind, he heard the Wakandan scoff.

 _Vengeance fuels a man for miles._

T'Challa thought about it, a nagging thought that had resided in the back of his mind ever since he started this wild chase. Chasing a man who was thought to be the murderer of his father. A man whom the Captain had protected for unknown causes. In his quest to enact justice, he had forgotten to investigate the case himself. So much for "doing it myself".

But even as he, as King and warrior, strove against what should and would have been allies, even as he, as the son of T'Chaka, enacted out his duty to avenge his father, and even as he, as sworn guard and protector of his nation, fought to ensure those with powers beyond the natural realm were held accountable, he had let himself commit a great folly; he had let his own emotions reign him in. His father would have been disappointed in him. Not just for running around in a suit before his coronation, but for making the political personal. He had let this man, an unknown, become his master and let this foreigner peer inside him, and the Captain, and his friend and the rest. However this man's insidious nature was, it was a shame the pride of Wakanda had lost to the scum of Russia.

He looked down.

The snow gathered around his feet, piling up as the silence dragged in the wind. It couldn't have been long, but for him, it felt like ages since he felt this...this...was it peace? And yet, and yet, his father's murderer was still alive. And the thought...somehow had been put to rest? Was it resting eternally or just dormant? No something felt unusually right about this.

"This is all you wanted? To see them rip each other apart."

He heard a beeping sound as yet another recording was deleted. The evidence for the crime. The memory of a perished loved one. How long ago was this? Slokovia was...a few years? He had been planning this...looking for a way to-no, he had found one when Natasha...how? Who was this man? How much had he lost that he had enough determination to keep him going for years...against meta-humans and government operations? Had he succeeded, it would take more than the Slokovian Accords to give the United Nations satisfaction to allow the Avengers, the X-men or whatever secret league there was, to participate in missions.

The initiative would have to be shut down. S.H.I.E.L.D. and whatever was left of it would be exterminated. Tony would perhaps have to have his suits confiscated if it got that bad. Or have trackers installed. Wakanda could be roped into a struggle they would not want to be a part of. Shuri, forced to build weapons her moral compass wouldn't normally allow, Okoye and Ayo, forced to defend whatever the Avengers had abandoned, and his dear Nakia would be forced to labour even harder for causes she might not wish to get behind. Not that he or anyone could ever force these women to do anything. But they would face some moral dilemmas, he was sure. As for the Avengers, whoever that was left unaffected would be left scarred so much, the thought of re-joining a team of that level would not sound as enticing. And the rest of the world would watch as the heroes who had to get together when the world needed them most would vanish one by one until there were no more champions left standing. In the wake of their own internal war, had things escalated too high, the earth would be left without any hope. All ounce of belief in their fairytale legends would be extinguished.

Snuffed out...like a candle. He cocked his head as the Baron began to speak.

"My father lived outside the city. I thought we would be safe there. My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, "Don't worry. They are fighting in the city. We're miles from harm." When the dust cleared… and the screaming stopped. It took me two days until I found their bodies. My father…still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers? They went home. I knew I couldn't kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. But, if I could get them to kill each other..."

The man trailed off, voice hoarse and trembling ever so slightly. Whether it was genuine or sincere, T'Challa couldn't tell. He hadn't really had a chance to meet this man, but from what he gathered about how his family's loss had driven him this far, to say he was on the verge of tears was not a stretch.

"I'm sorry about your father. He seemed a good man. With a dutiful son."

He paused. That comment. It should have driven him to madness. Should have made him blindly claw the man's heart out. And yet, the more he entertained those thoughts, it seemed as though the calm, sweet voice of his Baba and grand-Baba and great-grand-Babas before him were asking him to be rational. To ground himself in collected wisdom and benevolently surrender this man to the hands of the enforcement. His own stubbornness kept nagging at him still, almost attempting to overwhelm the well of voices that swarmed his mind and heart. All he needed was one final prompt before he made his mind up. A thought that he had been meditating on since the beginning.

Vengeance could fuel a man for miles.

With control and a diplomacy he didn't know he had, he spoke the next lines. It came tumbling out of him easier than he expected.

"Vengeance has consumed you. It's consuming them."

The next line however...it was a little harder. He retracted his claws as he took a deep breath. His eyes started to water, expectedly. He choked a little at the start. He breathed once, and yet again. _Finish strong, T'Challa. Don't let your enemy see that even in his final moments, he has allowed you to suffer even a little bit. Don't give them that kind of pleasure. Finish strong._

He grimaced. _I'm sorry, Baba. I've let you down again._

"I am done letting it consume me. Justice will come soon enough."

He eyed him steadily. Even if he was emotionally tearing, T'Challa was able to think clearly. To see clearly. And for the first time since this conversation started, he realised why Zeemo had deleted the evidence so quickly. Why he had exited this place to sit on a mountain top where there was no shelter from the unforgiving cold and why a man, who had spent his past lifetime hiding in secret, was now willing to be exposed on the summit of a wintry plain. Why this commoner had ascended with little supplies. He knew...he knew...he wasn't planning on making it out alive.

"Tell that to the dead."

But it was too late. His hand, still in his vibranium suit, was already on the gun. He tilted it up and away from their faces as he heard the gunshot ring. He felt the vibration run through his fingers and up his arm, but otherwise, he felt nothing.

The miracle metal never failed to amaze him.

Pressing his sides, the Black Panther held him firmly and squeezed his torso. Zeemo let out a wheeze. The man was still struggling, he could feel him squirming under his leg hold. For some reason, he laid still after a few seconds. The determined had given up. And with his already cleared mind, T'Challa knew he had considered himself a hero, someone who had succeeded in infiltrating a hostile base and opening fire through the barrels of his adversaries. By giving up, it was to show that he had already won. He had achieved victory and however he died, whether by his own hand-though it would have been less of a shame if he had done so-or another's, he didn't care.

"The living are not done with you yet."

And with that, T'Challa knew he was free. He could only hope his friends, Steve and his accomplice, could find a way to liberate themselves as well.


	10. Chapter 10

Ororo held her husband by the arm as the both of them watched the two men chat. One with a metal arm, the other with a loyalty of steel.

No, not steel. Vibranium.

They couldn't really hear what the two of them were talking about, but that was unnecessary. After what had happened with the Avengers, the whole world had turned their eyes on the both of them. Imagine that! The entire world fixated on an antique man and his best friend. All the paparazzi and the crowd! In all seriousness, Storm believed they were happy to be isolated from the rest in the bubble of Wakandan shelter. It was her idea, although T'Challa said that he thought of it before. Regardless, both her spouse and she agreed that the two men had endured enough. They needed some privacy; no, they deserved some privacy. A little quiet to balance out the chaos and insanity that was "civil war"...to quote the tabloids of America. She smirked. It wasn't really a war, more of a skirmish. A quarrel that the world mistook for an all-out battle. Newspapers had a way of exaggerating things, of making things seem bigger than they should be. Well, she never understood journalism anyway.

That and the fact that she was always under so much stress when interviewed by the press; Wakandan or otherwise. Yes, the spotlight wasn't her thing. And she was sure the Captain's friend shared her sentiments. A life of crime and regret, buried deeply in the past, only to be dug up by belligerent journalists and unearthed by politicians. They definitely needed some downtime.

And to tell the truth, T'Challa and her needed some too.

"His decision?"

Her husband looked at her and smiled. The kind of smile that she knew meant everything was going to be alright. Although that typically meant something that she didn't expect was going to happen. Which meant that the Captain's friend had chosen to go under. Unfortunate really, he seemed like he would be willing to be of use somewhere. T'Challa could always need some help or find something somewhere for him to do. He was sure to comply, to clear his ledger.

"Does Steve know? The Captain, I mean."

He looked at her and shook his head.

"I believe he would tell him soon."

She pursed her lips. Why did he always have to be so cryptic?

This man would forever be a mystery to her. It was pretty obvious the day she met him, dressed in his curiously smart outfit for a "street-kid", or so he told her. And she was observant enough to notice the three burly men and about five women who trailed cautiously behind him. The small purple embroidering in his fabric was one only certain nobles had access to. She was trying to figure out who he was, weaving in and out of the lines of people until she bumped into him. Her hand reached forward into where his purse would be, but she caught his hand instead.

The thirteen or so people behind him tensed up, shoulders straightening and one even stepped forward. His eye caught his guards and they immediately eased. He then looked at her and tilted his arm so she could see the bracelet jutting out of his sleeve before swiftly bringing in his arms, whilst letting go of hers. She still hadn't told him that move had impressed her back when she was a child. It was the move that made her instantly realize who she had tried to rob, a move that displayed what he was capable of and, at the same time, displace whatever items she could have possibly stolen. All in the flick of his wrist.

She held his wrist now, tapping it lightly and wondering how that one move would have evolved to something harsher, swifter in executing justice upon his civilians. Its shape was still there, but the exterior had become rougher over the years. One thing remained the same though.

Her hand still fit perfectly in.

It was almost as if their palms had grown around each other, their fingers interlocking and fitting like a puzzle piece. The tones of their hands had even matched. Hers had grown lighter, his darker. She remarked this to T'Challa who laughed and pointedly said he had spent too much time outside, and she, inside. They shared a moment before glancing at the two men at the medical bay as Bucky was being examined by the doctor. Rogers now, instead of a smile, held his lips straight, eyes distant and brows lowered. His friend, typically meeting his eyes, was now staring out the window. Clearly, something had transpired between the two whilst T'Challa and her were occupied.

Seeing her quizzical look, her husband nudged her elbow. His way of asking her to investigate deeper without saying a word, as sometimes, they would need to; in meetings, at functions, or simply when they wanted to play around with others. In this case, it was to see if she could read the situation from afar. She let out some air but complied. Looking at the way the staff seemed unbothered by the exchange, she guessed that it wasn't some small squabble, nor was it something that made the two upset at each other, just perhaps, uncertain of where or how to move forward. As if one of them had made a decision to...oh...

She whispered her answer in her spouse's ear, leaning forward and tip-toeing slightly. He responded with a "ting-ting". She stepped backwards and rolled her eyes, half-hitting him for that attempt to mimic some sort of game show. This Queen was not having it today.

If it was a game-show, should she get some prize?

T'Challa looked at her thoughtfully, before giving her a peck on the forehead. She nearly squealed but held it in. Monroe protested that others would have seen that. He scoffed, since when did she care about that. He was the one who would care about their public image and besides, she seemed to like this sort of thing more than he did. The Wakandan King turned his attention to Steve, watching him to discern if he was taking the news well. His cold blue eyes were staring at the diagnosis on the screens, unsure of what half those words meant. He caught his gaze for a moment, before smiling and returning to perusing the screens.

In the brief moment that their stares met, he realized that Zeemo was right; his eyes were a soft blue with a hue of green in them. Much like the way sunlight glinted off cold steel.

No, not steel. Vibranium.

And his gaze bore semblance to his stature. For he was a steely man. The Wakandans would have called him a "lion-herder". He eyed him once more, before turning his gaze to face the window. Glancing across his kingdom, he eyed the greenery before him; the emerald serenity a false sense of calm and poverty. The Westerners typically associated jungles with impecunious desperation and it was a stereotype that they were able to take advantage of. For within the gargantuan trees and muddy rivers was hid a trove of ambitious sufficiency, a vibranium emporium untouched by Caucasians' hands, let alone, footsteps. The only thing that could have made the sights before him better was when the sun rose over the horizon, lucidly painting the typical greenscape and silvery structures with rosegolds and auburns, not forgetting the rare, but ever so beautiful, purple.

The thought of his empire... _his_ empire...a kingdom he could call his own. It was a tragic thought if it was pressed further, but on the surface, he knew that thought thrilled him. He had expected to be scared, to be trembling at the idea of having to add his stone to the monumental foundation that was Wakanda. His father's pride, his grandfather's pride and the fathers' before him as well. To add a page in this volume of history. It was a dreadful thought, one that reigned in his emotions and circled his core. But it was this kind of pressure that kept his mind clear, that grounded him. It served as an anchor, not weight, keeping him from drifting into selfishness and corruption and binding him to the promise of guarding his nation.

That and the fact that he had a family of his own now. Ororo. Sure, Shuri and Mama were individuals he would have laid his life down for, but Monroe? He'd do much more than that. It was different. Marriage. A bond so strong, it was rumoured that both parties could almost hear each other's thoughts. Yet, there were times his lady would surprise him. Sometimes pleasantly, other times, not so. But it served to show that there were mysteries about her he had yet to uncover. It was a challenge he enjoyed, reading into other people. And he was never one to retreat from a challenge.

And to tell the truth, he and Ororo needed some too.

They needed to keep their minds well-oiled, their brains swift and sharp. They needed to keep their relationship tethered tightly, woven as tapestry from the Shamaan tribes. He gripped her hand suddenly, reminded of the oaths they swore to each other before the nations prying eyes and all the promises whispered within the walls of their room. Most were kept, some had been broken and a rare few were forgotten. But the oath they made as husband and wife, Prince and Princess, lovers and admirers still stood, rooted deep within each others' hearts.

Honestly, he never imagined he would be married. Nor did he ever imagine one day he'd be King. And yet here he was.

No, he thought. _Here we are._

"You're so sentimental today." Ororo trilled.

He pursed his lips. Why did she always have to be so playful?

"He's coming over now. His friend is asleep." She remarked.

The couple turned slightly to face the tall Caucasian. T'Challa stared at the plains beyond him, Monroe turned and shook his hand, not letting go of her husband's in the meanwhile. Steve nodded slightly and tilted his gaze up to the Wakandan King. Ororo smiled. She was beautiful as always.

"If you want to speak to my husband alone, just ask."

T'Challa gingerly released her hand and gave it a kiss before she trailed away, hovering lightly to the door. No doubt, she had decided to go back to her duties; he knew from the way she straightened herself and held her head inches higher. Power-posing as he had once taught her to do. Majestically, she turned and flew out of the room, regally nodding to the guards who followed behind, saluting their King as they made their way out. Well, soon-to-be King.

Whichever way the ceremony turned out, he found it a relief that she would always support him. She had been by his side ever since they began courting each other. She had supported him as he undertook strict regimes to prepare himself for the mantle of the throne, unleashing pep talks after his tutors had finished. And unlike the lectures he had gotten from his tutors, hers seemed to motivate him much more than theirs ever did.

He watched her leave, then turned to the misty scenery before him, the green sights a feast for his eyes. Throughout the years, she had evolved to be a woman who was confident and respectable and for that, he was grateful. She gave up her home in the United States to be with him, that was something he appreciated the most.

But whether it was when she had arrived for their marriage ceremony, or when she strolled past the hallways, one thing was certain.

She still fit perfectly in.

It was almost as if she had grown up here and never left. The way she walked, the way she spoke...it was as if she had always stayed in Wakanda for all her adolescent years. No X-Men, no Storm, just Ororo. It was only because Nakia, who found her outside their borders, convinced her to return that they began to realise what the future could hold for the two of them.

"She's a gem." The Captain remarked.

He nodded curtly.

"That she is."

The blonde man stared at whatever T'Challa had been glancing at, the emerald sea lined with silver waves of mist and fog. The only other gem that T'Challa held dear to his heart besides Ororo. He eyed the man as he shifted uneasily, expression grim at what had just transpired between his friend, a long-time ally he had been longing to return to, and himself, a long-time soldier seemingly caught up in battles he never wanted to start, let alone end. Of course, once he did start one though, he would be sure to end it on his terms...if not...he'd fight back.

"Thank you...for this"

T'Challa looked away to face the window. Establishing eye contact with the man was not ideal now, not when he had to take his mind off of reality and sink into his thoughts. Thoughts about the past and his life as Steve Rogers and nothing more, with Bucky by his side, ready to defend the nation and each other against Nazis, bullies or commanders too harsh. Thoughts about the future, where he could go and hide, what he should do from here on out and how to reconcile Tony and himself, to bring the team back...if he was even thinking about the team at all. Times like this, it was hard to tell. Neither was it T'Challa's place to ask.

"Your friend and my father, they were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace..."

Then what?

He'd find peace too? He'd maintain this reputation as a gracious and noble dignitary? No, that was selfish of him to say. And had he really helped Bucky find peace? Or was he just letting Bucky's own fears of becoming a monster fester and excuse him from the line of duty? But the Captain didn't need those thoughts now. He needed reassurance. So the King let his sentence trail off...unfinished yet somehow, completely perfect for this situation.

"You know..." the Captain piped up, "If they find out he's here, they'll come for him."

T'Challa smirked. Had the Captain thought so little of his country and its resources? There was no way that the American government was able to discover the technological empire of Wakanda's existence, how much more finding the location of an old man...a fugitive who would have zero contact with the outside world. No, that would be impossible.

And even if they did...he lifted a finger and tapped it lightly against his beard, the smirk on his face fading as his mouth became a thin line.

"Let them try."


	11. Chapter 11

In the dim light of the room, illuminated by the blue light that streamed from the monitors, news reporters detailed the passing of their former King, his father, her father-in-law, as screens played the footage of the explosion. A man clad in Vibranium-lined armour watched, eyes trained on the screens, cloudy and unmoving. He perched, leaning the weight of his head of his arm and setting it against the table. Behind him, a bald woman watched from the pilot seat, posed with arms at the side.

She eyed the monitor for five seconds before drifting her attention to the man, considering his posture and the way he rested himself against the table. She turned her gaze to the Vibranium plate which offered a live simulation of what was happening on the ground. Mentally, she counted again the number of vehicles in her mind (seven) then estimated the number of soldiers they needed to face off (eighteen). Of course, T'Challa would have known about this before she did. The woman turned back to the monitor and synchronously lifted up her hands, folding them inwards slightly whilst tilting her ring finger on both hands out. Slowly, she rested them on the side arms and spoke.

"My Prince, coming up on them now."

He grunted softly, standing up and jerking himself away from another vision in his mind of the explosion. Walking to the table where the live feed was, he held up a Vibranium truck model and flicked his hand over the roof. Seamlessly, the top layer slid away and an orange figure of a woman lit up. She was surrounded by twelve other ladies, some younger than his sister, others older. The sight of it brought a suppressed memory to the forefront of his mind. One where he was with his father. They had talked about these kinds of things, how he was sheltered whilst there were other children outside who were forced by cruel men to endure cruel things. Stripes, beatings, abuse of all kinds. He used to ask, "Baba why?" He had stopped shortly after he realised the dangers of going outside.

The more they ventured out, the more they could get in.

And that had been the philosophy of his people ever since he could remember. The philosophy or quandary to corral themselves in a bubble. To the people, it was a shield, a protection against greedy colonisers. The barrier stopped any intruder from getting in, prevented anyone who ever tried to enter from uncovering their greatest resource and deepest secrets. The nation of Wakanda was a mine in both senses of the word. It held valuable resources for the people who dug deep enough and it was capable of detonating and causing warfare should the wrong kind of outsiders step foot in its soil. Safer to be isolated than to let in the wrong company.

Although, T'Challa would argue, it was suffocating to be encased for eternity. And it was selfish. That he could not deny, no matter how many times this issue was examined, regardless of the angle he took. As a person, he would want to bring relief and aid to others. He would want to offer solutions to problems his nation had the resources to address or even end. He would want to be at the forefront of advancements, he would want to shape history, not just of his country, but of humanity. He would open the borders to bring in refugees, he would enlist the Dora to help in incarcerating criminals, he would order Shuri to provide hospitals with the technology needed to help in heart transplants, neurosurgery and print smart prosthetics for men, women, children even.

As a ruler...he couldn't always do what he wanted to.

A ruler always places his subjects first. Above his desires, above his family, above his needs. While that was akin to navigating a minefield, T'Challa believed with his entire heart, by keeping Wakanda the way it was, that served to protect and enable his subjects to be secure. And as a ruler, he was willing to sacrifice anything to uphold the wellbeing of his people. Even if that meant finding it a little hard to breathe at times.

The sound of a spear rattling caught his attention. Okoye had lifted her weapon and had begun to examine it. He quickly realised what she intended to do.

"No need, Okoye. I can handle this on my own." He pretended not to notice the sauciness that oozed out of her eyes when he said that.

Some battles were not meant to be fought over.

He attempted to lift her spirits slightly, knowing that, if a hyena was allowed to mallow in its anger, it would release its frustration in ways so cunning. He spoke the next sentence with care. "I will get Nakia out as quickly as possible."

Reassurance. Packed neatly in a bundle. Was that offering enough to satiate the haughty hyena?

"Just don't freeze when you see her."

Apparently not. T'Challa gave a soft harrumph. Grateful, as he was, for this loyal and dutiful General, sometimes he wished he had the liberty to be rid of her. If only he had a day where she would not serve as his Dora, his guard. It would be a day he looked forward to.

"What are you talking about?" He chided, eyebrows lowered and voice taut. "I never freeze."

He placed his hand out as she loaded it with blue beads. EMP disks. She cocked her head to the side as she digested what he had said, but thankfully remained silent. He placed his mask on and clutched the beads tightly.

"Besides, I am already married."

He crossed his arms in front of him and felt his gut tighten as he fell towards the ground at hurtling speeds. The rush of air that followed was unrivalled by any other. He felt the wind seep out of him and along with it, nervousness and grief were abraded. Funny how the winds provided a catharsis of sorts, he would have to let Monroe know of this. No wonder she could find the weather fascinating. Breathing deeply, he flexed his arm and flung the disks, letting go of one, then the second, then the third, then the last one. He watched as they spun and flattened into disks, spiralling towards their targets-the roofs of the trucks below him.

Angling himself and curling his torso slightly, he had a different target. He braced himself for impact and tumbled towards the ground, rolling in the tall grass. The rustling of the vegetation was drowned out by the commotion of having a few cars lose control and skidding into acacias or the shouts of obtuse drivers jamming their brakes.

Standing up into a crouch, he heard the conversations of several men, then rolled over and lept up a tree, landing on a nearby branch. A critter had spotted him, one of the soldiers' pets, no doubt. It didn't matter. He could take all of them even in broad daylight. His suit would make bullets from an automated rifle seem like a slow breeze. A flash of light and a few rustles in the grass signalled to him the arrival of company. Two men emerged, carrying guns tightly wound to their chest. The situation made him want to chuckle.

The men aimed their torch at the white dog below him, who had started barking up the tree he was perched on. The two of them, expectedly, turned their flashlights there. Normally, the glare from the lights would have diminished his vision but his mask had made up for it, instantly filtering out the light so he need not worry about letting his eyes adjust to the light.

He hopped down deftly from the branch and kicked the both of them. One foot landed near the man's chin, another hit him square in the nose. He flipped up and grabbed the man's neck, slamming him head first into the ground. The other man was about to fire when he whacked the gun out of his arm and covered his mouth. Putting his weight on his right foot, he grounded himself before tumbling forward, letting the man take the most of the fall. He jammed his elbows into the man's side, knocking out any remaining breath he had.

Silently, he crouched up and made his way to the rest of the trucks. He approached another soldier before roundhousing him into the door of the truck. Using that momentum, he sprung on two other men, taking them out with a single swipe of his claws. He heard one gunshot, then another. Rolling off the force of his jump, he turned to face another soldier and brought him down by kicking his shin. He slid behind the grass and around the truck before flying towards the gunner and flinging him backwards. Leaping into the air, he spun and kicked yet another soldier in the face, grunting as he did so.

He felt the impact of a bullet hit his back.

 _Bad move._ He knew where the other man was now. He threw a punch and continued to take other men down. Half-way, he heard a woman's voice and the shriek of a man before the thump of a body landing on the ground was heard. He flipped away as a soldier thrust a dagger at him, then launched himself towards the man, feet first. He landed on top of him and heard something crunch beneath his feet. He walked off the groaning man and picked up his dagger, flinging it at his companion. He turned and faced one soldier who was repeatedly firing at him.

Apparently, not one of them realised their bullets were ineffective at making him bleed.

He grabbed the gun and was about to flip him when he felt a firm hand grasp his wrist and something made contact with his belly. Not enough to stun him, but enough to put some distance between him and the soldier.

"This one's just a boy!" He heard a familiar shrill ring through the night. "He got kidnapped as well."

"Nakia..." He began, but his breath caught as the thought of what he would have done had Nakia not stepped in lingered in his mind. Hurting a child. What would his father have said? He wouldn't be proud if he...and how old was the boy? T'Challa knew the answer. Eleven.

"I wanted to..."

A growl from his right made him turn to the armed man, pointing a gun at Nakia. He barked for none of them to move else he would shoot, both statements redundant considering that the threat was obvious. And as he was so caught up in yelling empty threats, he did not pick up the soft breeze stirring behind him.

"Don't interrupt royalty, peasant." The white-haired woman gritted her teeth. Before he could react, he was swept off his feet. The man landed a few feet away before Ororo jammed her fist in his back, knocking him out cold. She whipped around to face her husband and cocked her head, standing up and perched over the man like a lioness over a fallen zebra. The grey clouds above them bespoke of her readiness to bring in another storm, this one packed nicely for her dearest.

"You froze." She said curtly. Stepping out of the shadows, Okoye joined her in mocking stance of the conversation...or lack of...that had transpired between the two. Monroe walked towards the lady and the General followed suit, flicking her spear at T'Challa as she passed. He made a poor attempt at explaining himself, even poorer attempt of sneaking out at night. She had felt him leave the room the moment he got up from the bed but had not bothered with it assuming he had gone to ease himself. After an hour though, she knew he had snuck off again.

It was not a cause of panic, nor was it a concern. If he had to settle any diplomatic relations with their African relatives or if he needed to operate a covert mission within the outskirts of their borders, that he could do. If it had to do with checking in with the wardogs, that was fine too. She would have let the matter rest had her mind not flashed to the memory of their conversation earlier in the day; him discussing who he would like to attend the ceremony. Rather, who he would like to _bring_ to the ceremony. Bring, as in, bring in from the outside...a Wakandan currently outside their borders possessing good standing before the rulers. Which left one possible candidate.

Strange, considering he was not as kind to let her visit her 'family' often in the past. Peculiar, seeing as how he would do so much for someone who was not even a Dora. Then again, Nakia wasn't just any Wakandan. That she knew.

Nakia was originally sent on espionage; her current base of operations at Nigeria. She, along with others, was key to allowing Wakanda to progress further than the rest of the world. The group was small, no more than twenty in different regions globally. After all, the nation had one simple principle to uphold.

The more they ventured out, the more they could get in.

So wardogs became the solution. Of course, she could always trust Nakia to go beyond the call of duty. And that she certainly did, what with having helped local refugee work and human trafficking rescue operations. Almost like what the X-men used to do, back when mutants were outlawed and feared. And thus, Nakia earned herself high standing with the Royals. In time, she would have earned a high standing in T'Challa's heart as well. Until a storm dropped by Wakanda. A typhoon that blew his heart away from the wardog and whisked it somewhere over the rainbow to the land of Ororo. Whatever happened between them was in the past. Their relationship wasn't in Kansas anymore.

"I wasn't...didn't freeze because of-"

T'Challa began again but remained silent the moment their eyes met. Underneath the mask, she was sure he was rolling his eyes and almost smiling at the situation. Her eyes twinkled in the dark forest, flashing quickly before returning to the icy state they were in previously. Turning to face the wardog, she whispered discreetly at a volume only her beloved would be able to pick up, "Humour me."

"Tsk..."

She lifted her head higher, arms stiffening at her side. She folded her cape and brushed it to the side, angling her face to the lady clothed in green. The girl's arms slackened, her eyes opened wide and she immediately eyed her toes. Her eyes darted around, frantically searching for a target to lock on to without seeming disrespectful. By the look of things, she almost considered bowing. _Good, she was falling for it._ This girl was naive. Whether it was all a ploy to act submissive or to get others to underestimate her, Monroe would never know. Regardless, it made her fun to play with.

"Nakia." She calcified her voice, watching as the effect rippled into the girl before her.

"Princess Ororo, I mean no offence. I was unaware that the King would have dropped by. Had I known I would have informed you. I apologize for this turn of events and assure you, I will do everything in my power to ensure such an incident will not happen again."

Ororo clammed her lips tightly, attempting not to break.

"Well, if you are done overthinking, you can start thinking about our invitation to T'Challa's coronation."

Nakia looked up. "Our? You mean-"

"Nakia, did you really think I would be this petty?"

"No...I did-"

"Hmm...you're a horrible liar." Okoye stepped in, having dismissed the ladies who by now, had fled to seek refuge in any nearby villages. The general tapped her spear lightly on the ground, rubbing the blade with her fingers and brushing the dust off the hilt. She gave it a soft twirl and eyed it. Satisfied, she turned to the trio.

Ororo nodded, silently thanking the General for accompanying her husband before facing the wardog and extending her arms towards her. She dipped her head and tilted to the side and raised one eyebrow, the right side of her lip curled into a smile. Nakia's stance relaxed and moved forward, melting into the embrace of a sister she had longed to see for ages. Monroe wrapped her arms around the girl's shoulders and gave a soft squeeze, before patting it lightly twice. Nakia stepped out of the embrace and held Ororo's hand tightly.

"It's good to see you, Monroe."

She would have come by to visit more often had she not been required to fulfil royal obligations at home. And for the people, having their future King's wife - an immigrant no doubt - venture outside their borders often would have reeked of suspicion. How often, she wondered, could she find valid reasons that the Wakandans would be willing to accept for her to wander out of the border? After all, she had friends, family and colleagues that existed beyond the orb of their Vibranium-filled nation. She would have loved to see them much more often...and diplomatic visits definitely wouldn't have sufficed as a valid reason. She had long since came to this conclusion.

As a ruler...she couldn't always do what she wanted to.

Right now, though, she wanted nothing more than for this stubborn lady to come back for good and not insist on staying overtime past her mission deadline. Had she not sought to finish rescuing all the hostages, she would have been two weeks into her furlough. Ororo chuckled lightly as she recalled how Nakia had volunteered to skip two furloughs in exchange for helping another refugee outpost back when she was posted in Korea. T'Challa had near been furious about this, Okoye said she was insane and for her? She was nothing short of worried that Nakia would overwork herself. The last thing their empire needed was for someone to inform them that their best spy and most effective wardog was found passed out after three weeks of not sleeping and giving her own food and water to the innocent refugees. Ever since then, they had given up chasing her around and persuading her to return to rest and simply let her return when she decided her work was finished.

Some battles were not meant to be fought over.

At least Nakia was still making weekly reports; that was an unnegotiable clause she had to comply to. In fact, Ororo sometimes received reports from her twice a week! Monroe fussed about this to her husband, begging him to ask Nakia to stop pushing herself too hard, but this lady was stubborn as she was kind. Whatever happened, she was glad to finally meet up with Nakia again. They had so much catching up to do.

"So," T'Challa began. "What will it be?"


	12. Chapter 12

The trio sat in silence. Having known each other for so long, words were meaningless at this point. No need to pass the time with casual chat or witty jokes, they would leave that to the Dora. Besides, T'Challa needed strength to prepare for the ceremony. Nakia and Ororo glanced at each other and smiled.

Okoye piped up from the front. Her voice heralded a message they were eager to hear, carried with a soothing and warm echo. "Sister Nakia, Princess Ororo, My Prince. We are home."

T'Challa spoke. "This never gets old."

Ororo smirked at him from the side. "You have yet to feel what's it like when you fly through it, my dear. But then again, you can't really fly so I don't expect you to know the feeling."

"Monroe!" Nakia gasped. She slapped her thigh playfully, her eyes lined with jocund amusement.

"How dare you assault the future Queen of Wakanda. I call treason."

The four of them laughed as the fighter slid through the barrier. They heard the familiar sound, a triple whoosh and felt their skin buzzing lightly. The forest faded away to reveal a shimmering kingdom, tall buildings beside a serene lake, sunlight glinting off the highest tower and casting the land in golden auras. Blue inscriptions lined the city, the neon text bespoke of this nation's heritage. Around the city, tiny cars, all of them maglev, dotted the streets, with green and yellow, purple and orange hues...a canvas of Africa. All concealed within the greenery of the projection that was the barrier.

T'Challa was right, this never got old.

Ororo stared at the window, watching the small houses loom closer and closer. Below, she spotted several children waving at the fighter, holding their hands high and thrashing them about. Okoye adroitly hovered the fighter towards them, skimming over their heads, a few meters away. Ororo leaned against the glass and waved back, flashing a smile. One of the boys laughed and keenly tapped his friend on the shoulder, mouthing in his native tongue that it was the King and his wife.

Both of them crossed their arms in front and performed the Wakandan salute. Ororo replied with a salute of her own. The boys' cheeks flushed and ran back to the crowd that had gathered behind them, seeking shelter behind their mother's skirts. The fighter hovered over the area for a while before Okoye gestured that they should go. Monroe nodded and gave a final wave to the boys.

"You seem good with children," Nakia remarked.

"I did do some teaching back when I was with the Professor," Ororo remarked. "Had the chance to handle a class of ten 5-year olds once. With all of them still trying to control their powers, the classroom was either on fire or someone was bleeding. It took both me and Jean to settle them down. And even with her telepathic powers, they only went to bed after an hour or so. Ah, I miss seeing those few kids."

"I think you'd make a good mother," Nakia remarked.

Ororo nodded. Yes, she held the same sentiments, albeit less confident than Nakia seemed. She thought to the time when Mama Ramonda had first made mention of having grandchildren. Baba T'Chaka had chided her that it was up to them and that it was their privacy and right, earning nervous waves of laughter from both T'Challa and her. That was three years ago. They still hadn't produced any grandchildren for Mama Ramonda. And Baba T'Chaka had passed away without seeing his.

T'Challa looked at her, shooting glances of sympathy.

Between the two of them, a silent conversation took place. One that was regarding the fact that the two of them had been married for five years and how Ororo had yet to show any signs of producing an heir. It was pressurising to uphold a public image and even more so, now that T'Challa would be crowned King, she was sure that the media would not be holding back on her any time soon.

Nakia knew better than to ask about this. Her earlier comment was simply a statement, nothing more. As for Okoye, she felt that T'Challa and Ororo would breach the topic whenever they were ready. Monroe recalled having talked to T'Challa about this. Both came to the conclusion that they would wait until he was elected King and until he had settled in fully to his new role as the country's monarch. Even then, would they both be ready for this new responsibility? She felt like she couldn't afford to have to handle being both Queen and mother at the same time. How Mama Ramonda did it was such a mystery for her, raising not one, but two successful Wakandans; both of whom had contributed greatly to their nation and upheld their family's legacy. T'Chaka was sure to be proud of his son and daughter.

Honestly, she was glad they had chosen to wait.

Waiting meant they had time left for each other and it was during these five years that she truly got to understand her partner and lover intimately. She had seen him at his worst. He had seen her at her worst. But they had both seen each other's best as well. Journeying alongside him and joining him was the best decision she had ever made, surpassing the decision to join the X-Men. She felt a small bump as the plane dipped and lowered in altitude. It was enough to jolt her out of her thoughts.

Beyond the pilot seat where Okoye was, Monroe spied two neat lines of red-armoured women, all with their heads cleanly shaven. They each had their backs straight, spears gripped tightly in their right arms. Monroe was sure they all could pass for statues. But beyond the two rows of Milaje warriors, she saw three figures. Ayo, the Dora's second in command, clad in red as was the practice for Doras. Beside her, a lady in a regal outfit stood. The white tapestry of linen swirled around her body and fanned out behind her in a stunning backpiece. Mama Ramonda sure did not look her age. And next to Mama Ramonda was Shuri. Or Ri-ri, as she would sometimes jokingly call her.

Ri-ri, as always, was wearing some interesting garments that Ororo would not begin to even try to wear. Her Euro-afro wardrobe was always a concern for Mama Ramonda, worried that her youngest may fall away to the ideals of the Western world. Not that they were all bad, but in the recluse hermit that was Wakanda, borrowing ideas from the outside world seemed...odd at best. At worst? It seemed offensive. Besides, Wakandan garb was definitely better in quality and style than whatever the Americans could wear or don on. Even she, an immigrant from the land of the free, would stick to wearing her traditional African capes for now.

The fighter landed in the area and the quartet waited for the doors to open. Okoye unstrapped herself from the seat and moved to lead the trio to the runway. She picked up her spear and walked down the steps. Nakia followed suit. T'Challa walked towards Ororo and held out his arm. Monroe was caught off-guard by this and lifted her eyebrows. T'Challa smiled at her and gently took her left hand. He squeezed it tightly and placed it in the hook of his arm, giving her a peck on the forehead. She looked down in embarrassment and leaned in gently.

He definitely had stepped up his game.

They walked out towards the rest of the family, both their faces lighting up at the small exchange that had occurred in private. The Dora saluted them as they passed and the royal couple nodded as they passed. They strolled towards the group as both Okoye and Nakia looked at them. Mama Ramonda had a smile on her face whilst Shuri was silently smirking. From the way she was twirling around with her hands behind her back, Ororo guessed that she was in the clear. At least, even if she was her next target, it would be her husband that would take the brunt of her attack.

T'Challa knew this too, he breathed in deeply as he approached. He felt Storm rest her head on his shoulder lightly. Behind him, a soft wind was picking up. He was about to use it to forecast his wife's thoughts, but after Monroe gripped his shoulder and closed her eyes whilst shaking her head, he decided against it. She did not like it when the weather changed according to the mood and while she could control it excellently, she preferred not to when she was around familiar environments. That was how she operated; having been wound tight whenever she was under the scrutiny of the public eye, she needed space and time to unwind. She didn't want to have to maintain an image in the family, she needed to be herself.

Not that he had to be someone different around his family either, he knew he could be transparent with Shuri and Mama. But he was born into this image...this reputation to uphold. He had been trained and raised by his father to take hot seats and people staring at him whenever he went. Clearly, this was woven into his personality as well. And so, what he showed in his public appearances were more or less who he was in private.

He glanced at his sister and mother, his dear mother, as he approached. Behind them, the monolith of the Great Wakandan Empire splayed out. The air currents around them curled past each other, carrying warmth and scents that were only native to his home country. The wind whooshed past, a hearty welcome for the nation's future King and Queen. Beyond the tall silver-casted buildings, the skies were clear, with nought but grey clouds hanging lowly in the distant, catching the sun's rays and redirecting them towards the shine of the Vibranium-ladden architecture.

Yes, this never got old.

Nakia was the first to speak. She spread her arms open, palms facing the sky. She dipped slowly and bowed, eyes on the ground below her.

"Queen Mother, Princess. My comfort for your loss."

T'Challa felt a small hitch in his throat. He watched as his sister softly smiled. He caught her gaze before she deftly looked away. Stubbornly, she refused to let him see that her eyes had gotten slightly damper. She blinked twice and gave an almost indiscernible shrug. Rolling her shoulders back slightly, she stiffened, nodding silently at the wardog.

Mama Ramonda lifted her chin up. Her neck tensed and she gritted her teeth. The next few words were spoken with a ferocity T'Challa knew his mother had, and still was surprised, given the recent events that had transpired, that she currently possessed. Eyes shimmering in the rising sun, voice rolling from her chest, she spoke with all the strength of the Dora Milaje.

"Thank you Nakia, it is so good to have you with us."

Okoye spoke next, "Take her to the River Province to prepare her for the ceremony."

"Yes, General."

Nakia nodded and dipped herself in reverence to the Queen and Shuri. And to T'Challa and Monroe as well. She strode next to the general, stealing another glance at the royal family.

"Did he freeze?" Shuri prodded Okoye, tilting her shoulders towards the General.

"Like an antelope in the headlights!" Okoye's eyes flashed, her lips curled in a smile.

"Are you finished?" T'Challa chided, his eyes widened as he felt his cheeks turn red. "If ever I paused in battle, it was because-"

"If?" Okoye rebutted, clicking her tongue twice with a shake of her head. "My Prince, you are such a liar."

Ororo looked at him, shooting glances of sympathy.

Beneath the sober look, he was sure Monroe was secretly debating whether to join in the spray. After all, it would be perfect revenge for when he had snuck out earlier without informing her. Wordlessly, he pleaded with Monroe not to say anything. She scanned his face, tapping the side of her skirt for a minute. He lifted both his eyebrows and shot a glance at his sister, his hands curling inwards as he bit his lip. As Monroe looked at his sister being eyed by both the Prince and the Queen of Wakanda, she looked at T'Challa and inched her head downwards. Shifting her toes, she turned to face Okoye, who by now had led the Dora aside to prepare the vessels he and his family would be travelling in. Mentally, he noted to thank her later.

Shifting his weight, he prepared his counterattack.

"So glad my little sister came to see me off my big day."

Shuri rolled her eyes.

"Tsst, you wish! I'm here for the EMP beads. I've developed an update."

Ororo looked at her husband. T'Challa shook his head slowly, but Monroe ignored that silent request to not encourage her. "Already? Shuri that's-"

"Amazing, I know."

He frowned. Those beads had only been in testing for prototype a few weeks ago. Only yesterday was he allowed to even bring them to his mission. For Shuri to have worked out updates meant she had been working almost all-night. Unless the update was not significant but merely fixing some bugs. Which was unlikely, given how insistent she was in getting those beads from him. Staying up all night to finish work was a norm within the royal family and sleep was all but foreign to them at times. Yet, T'Challa suspected that there was a hidden reason for Shuri's desire to keep herself busy. Mama would have known and she would have stopped her. But Mama also would have needed time for her to get over her grief.

Shuri opened her palm and T'Challa placed the beads in her hand with reluctance. He did not appreciate how his sister was bustling around her lab at Baast knows when. Still, it was near improbable for him to persuade her otherwise. She was capable of out-smarting him for sure, that was why she was head of their technology and science department. It had always been the case, bright Shuri and the brave T'Challa, as they had called themselves when they were younger. He knew this was a battle he would lose, among many others he had already lost. He settled for a small remark.

"It worked perfectly."

"How many times do I have to tell you, just because something works, doesn't mean it cannot be improved!" She huffed.

Monroe chuckled softly beside him. He gave her arm a squeeze and pressed on, "I can't wait to see what kind of update you make to your ceremonial outfit!"

Shuri then proceeded to make a rude gesture behind Mama's back, one which T'Challa never thought she would dare to make in the public eye.

Shuri definitely had stepped up her game.

T'Challa expressed shock, intentionally triggering his mother to chastise Shuri quickly.

"Sorry, Mama!"

T'Challa and Monroe chuckled. Both faced their Mother as she went forward and gave her daughter-in-law a quick hug. Ororo whispered softly, "Ndiyakuthanda."

She smiled and patted her shoulder lightly. Turning to him, Mama Ramonda held his hands firmly. T'Challa smiled, remembering a distant memory from years ago. When he was a boy, and she was still Mama, and Baba was still around. Regardless, he still had someone whom he looked up to, someone who had walked with him ever since he was a baby, to hold.

"How are you feeling today, Mama?" He murmured.

"Proud. Baba and I would talk about this day all the time. He is with us...and it is your time to be king."

She released her grip and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Ororo took his hand and rubbed his knuckles. He took a deep breath.


	13. Chapter 13

T'Challa stood in between the jagged rocks that currently sheltered him. With the herb's properties still in his vein, he could hear the chatter outside the cavern. He listened closely for voices outside the waterfalls. The gushing sound of water streaming forth mixed with the susurration of a cacophony of voices made isolating sounds and individualizing voices rather hard. He could pick out Mama and Shuri's voice. And he could hear Ororo chanting alongside the brethren. Nakia was too far away. That or her tribe had yet to arrive. He sighed and turned the spear in his hand, examining the rock that was carved at its end. He then held out his shield and tested it, giving it a swing before jabbing with his spear. The weight seemed manageable, but that was because he still had the Black Panther's strength.

So much for practice.

He turned and glanced outside, attempting to see the sights of the tribes. Looking at the crowds made his nerves calmer, he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the way they danced and cheered and laughed. Perhaps there was a show of unity within and between the tribes, unity and strength he could rely on. Perhaps the people made his purpose and vision clearer, perhaps they invoked loyalty and courage to fight for the nation. Nevertheless, he wasn't expecting to fight today, but a king can never be complacent.

Zuri called his name. He looked up and nodded, greeting the elder and bowing to him. The man clothed in purple tassels shook his head, wagging a stubby round finger at the man.

"Get up. You are King, T'Challa. I should pay my respects to you."

"No," T'Challa began but was shushed by the elder. He complied with a hearty laugh. Zuri was another person he could never emerge victorious if they ever contended with words. The bald head contained treasures of wisdom and his tongue was as cheetahs on the plain, fast and nimble. Coupled with the experiences he had as his father's advisor, he was adroit at providing good reason. Building logical arguments, it was no wonder T'Chaka had asked him to be T'Challa's debate partner at times. The fact that he was a morally sound man was something his Baba would be grateful for as his silver tongue could easily be used for his own gain, had he not have a heart of gold. Moreover, he and his father were similar in pacing and thought, so they hardly had to debate.

Now, as future King, T'Challa hoped he and Zuri would see eye to eye as often as his father had. Although T'Challa felt he and his father had similar personalities, their motivations and moral compass were slightly different. To convince the Council along with Zuri about certain changes he had in mind may require more effort on his part. He just hoped that Zuri would side him willingly and not because he was his father's son.

He steadied himself just as Zuri asked if he was ready.

"A King is always ready."

"Even when his country isn't" Zuri finished. "Come, I see T'Chaka has taught you well."

"Let's hope it would be enough."

"Ah! T'Challa!" Zuri slapped his knee, "You have to be sure of yourself. If you are slipping, the rest will follow. Your father has done all that is needed, if not more. You will add on to the foundations of this nation very well."

He headed out and T'Challa followed behind. The first person he saw was Monroe. She was dressed in a beaded white garment, a billowing dress with a grey sash that flew behind her when the gust picked up. The skirt came down to her feet and the wind around the rocks made the fabric flow like a stream. Her hair was braided and neatly laid to the side, black beads complimenting the artic shade of her hair. On her head was a simple but elegant round piece, decorated with silver triangles. It served two purposes; pinning her fringe to the side and covering the back of her head. Her neck was adorned with a big red jewel cast in gold and black metals. She caught his eye and smiled, lifting her chin in pride.

His wife was someone he knew he could be proud of.

Next to her, on an elevated rock stood Mama Ramonda, her eyes overlooking the falls. She was adorned in her usual ceremonial garbs. Upon seeing her son, she chanted louder and raised her dulcet voice in the euphoric song of their people. Beside her was Shuri. He smiled as their eyes met and she flashed him an indicative smile. Would she dare pull off a prank in a sombre ritual as this? Seriously, T'Challa couldn't understand how Shuri, with all her intellect and genius wit, could ever think of doing the illogical at times.

The chanting stopped and he looked at the people. His beating heart increased in speed but it was not because he was nervous. He watched, eyes trained on his family as Zuri spoke the next few lines. He breathed steadily as Zuri approached with an amaranthine liquid held in a herbal mixing bowl. As his former mentor held it to his lips, he downed it. Immediately, as the liquid touched his lips, he felt a flare shoot throughout his body. His muscles contracted at the same time he felt his bones grinding together. His eyes watered and his vision blurred, a greyish cloud threatened to remove his sight. Sounds that were clearer suddenly dulled. His chest tightened and he crumbled to the lakes.

He no longer could hear the individual layers of voices, only a messy wave of indistinct sounds. Had they not been chanting synchronously, he would not have made out what they said. His arms felt numb and weak, his legs stiff and slow. Moving and standing felt like he was trudging through mud. His heart pulsed wildly and he felt his nerves return, a psychological effect of his brain working hard to ensure he was not dying. He felt slightly light-headed, but he got to his feet. Slowly, the burning sensation faded and his limbs felt...normal. He took a deep breath.

Watching anxiously, he nodded to Zuri.

The fear kicked in quickly, even quicker knowing what was about to transpire would determine his future and the future of his family. Without the herb's power, not only was he weaker, he lacked the courage that came with being the Black Panther. He focused on his breathing and aimed to slow down his heart rate, as his father had taught him when he was a small boy.

A rousing shout snatched him out of his thoughts and he turned to its source, echoing the call with his arms crossed. Strange how his brain had sensed that the crowd had diminished in size. His senses now dulled, half of what he could clearly see and hear before was gone. His brain had decided to adjust to the change by registering the possibility that some of the crowd had left. In reality, all of them were still present.

"The Merchant Tribe will not challenge today."

T'Challa nodded.

Another call. And the people echoed.

"The Border Tribe will not challenge today."

T'Challa nodded, and W'Kabi returned the acknowledgement.

 _A King must know who his allies are and those who are neither friend nor foe must be persuaded to join in your following._ That was what his father had told him and he had taken his advice by befriending someone from the Border Tribe. Who knew that the decision to help a small, scrawny boy clear goats' dung from his father's shed would result in a lifelong friendship that had continued until now. He was certain W'Kabi would stand by him as he always had.

Another call. And the people echoed.

"The River Tribe will not challenge today."

T'Challa nodded, and Nakia returned with a tilt of her head.

 _The people around you will change, as will you, and you must make sure that peace is achieved regardless of the winds that shift_. Nakia had once tried and failed, to pursue him. It was not her status or decision to venture out of Wakanda that made him drop her, it was simply because Ororo was more suited for Queen. More importantly, Monroe seemed capable of matching his stability more than Nakia did and she was someone he confided in most. Still, they had ended their relationship on good terms and Monroe didn't seem to mind having Nakia around, seeing as how she sometimes invited her for events.

Another call. And the people echoed.

"The Mining Tribe will not challenge today."

T'Challa nodded.

 _A King's most valuable resource is his people, his most valuable investment is his reputation._ While the mining tribe were responsible for most of Wakanda's Vibranium resources, they were also important in establishing the parameters of how the metal be used. He had worked closely with them for some matters and kept their relations strictly professional. That was so that he could be clear and unbiased in making decisions regarding the Vibranium industry and so that the people would not suspect he was bagging the metal for himself.

Turning to look at Zuri, the wise councillor belted. "Is there any member of a royal blood who wishes to challenge for the throne?"

He faced his family and smiled, the sight of familiar faces brought joy to his heart always. So imagine the shock he received, when Shuri, unusually grave and solemn, raised her right hand. Mama Ramonda had to double-take to ensure her ageing eyes were not deceiving her. Even without his hypersensitive hearing, he could hear whispers in their native tongue rippling through the crowd. Murmurs of conceived imaginings of drama and hidden hatred pulsed through the atmosphere, interspersed with nervous chatter about how Shuri wouldn't possibly dare.

He looked across the river to see Storm frowning, the wind billowed around her as the pupils flashed a lighter shade of grey. The clouds in the sky threateningly loomed an ominous shade of ash, in the distance, soft thunder rumbled. The way Ororo was poised, she knew Shuri would be dead had she continued what she had intended to do.

Although she felt sure that her husband would beat Shuri at any given time, with or without his powers. The only reason he could lose would be if Shuri found some way to outsmart him - unlikely given that battle was not anywhere near her field of expertise - or if T'Challa held back because of his feelings for his sister. Could T'Challa end Shuri if he had to? If he needed to end his family members for the sake of his survival, could he? Could she? After all, this was certainly not what anyone had expected.

So much for practice.

Shuri's mouth opened as the crowd held their breath for what would have tumbled out next.

"This corset is really uncomfortable...so could we all just wrap it up and go home?"

With that, the crowd could breathe. She rolled her eyes, much to the chagrin of the nearby Dora Milaje who poked her with the blunt end of the stick and reprimanded her for such a reaction. Princesses do not roll their eyes or express sarcasm, it just wasn't right. She responded curtly that the Dora do not assault their Princess either because it too was not right. The lady gasped audibly and shook her head, pretending to be offended at her comment. She grinned and relaxed her fist, the skies overhead shone a bright cerulean, clearing the previously overcast clouds.

Their joy was cut short as a distant chanting, not Wakandan, emerged from the cliffs. Ororo trembled...that sound was one she had heard only once when she was a girl, the memories of what had happened played in her mind. Vague flashes of broken huts and stolen carts tumbling around the village raged in her mind as she recalled that terrifying moment. The stills of a ransacked village and the body of a dead man bloodied and bruised lying on the street filled her mind. The screams and the roars. And the fire. Always the fire.

The loud chants from her mind rose louder and louder until they mingled with the sounds from the cliffs as a solid conclusion emerged. She glanced at Mama Ramonda who only could nod grimly as confirmation for her fears. She eyed T'Challa as her face turned white, her palms started to sweat and the air around her chilled. He looked at her, his eyes unwavering, his posture upright. _Give me strength, my love._

Yes, she had to be strong. She needed to be...for T'Challa, for their family, for the country. She watched as her husband broke their gaze and faced the open cavern where a line of strong men emerged. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw that he was bigger than T'Challa. Of course, he was, they were mountain people, with thick skins and steel-bound nerves. She became more breathless the moment she looked at his eyes and saw how much anger there was behind them. And their spears...she had heard how their spears were carved from tusks of animals that traversed the mountains, how each Jabari warrior had to earn those by plucking the horns from mountain rams. Rams who were bigger than rhinoceroses. Rams who could break through stone. And this man, this ape, had arrived unannounced to contend for the throne, despite being uninvolved with the nations' efforts and its people.

No, she told herself, T'Challa would not lose to this power-hungry berserker. The people would not cheer for him. That suspicion was confirmed the moment the crowd threw angry glances at the passing men. T'Challa was capable of defeating him, she had to believe in him. Her husband had seen Wakanda through challenging periods when their existence was threatened by UN forces seeking to expand humanitarian aid and had identified Wakanda as a part of its efforts to provide food, water and shelter for third-world nations and their economies. He had also managed to navigate deals with the government in Africa regarding resources and territory and obtain control over the political dispute that affected thirty villages and two tribes. Yes, her husband was far more outstanding than this ape.

T'Challa was someone she knew she could be proud of.

The Jabari leader announced his presence to the crowd, who watched in silence. He eyed Shuri and made a move to threaten the princess. He would have continued had the Dora not surrounded T'Challa's sister with their spears. Mama Ramonda made a move to shield Shuri and he smirked. He had succeeded in unsettling the royal family's bodyguards and made the crowd fear him. That was his goal...before even making any claim to the throne. Instil fear and make the people doubt their leaders. Unfortunately, Ororo wasn't sure if what he was doing was working.

Sure there would be a populace of individuals who were anti-T'Challa but she had hoped that this crowd would not be too sizable. She tried to see the reactions of the people standing behind and above her, but she did not want to give the impression that she was worried to this man. He simply wasn't worth that. She turned to lock eyes with the man, who smirked at her. Pointing his spear towards her face, but at a distance, he rambled about how the nation's prince had chosen to marry an outsider...one who had "forsaken" the Wakandan way. As if he had kept to the Wakandan way himself.

She raised her chin and quipped, "At least I did not abandon my people to live in the mountains or worship some ape-god."

Her comment earned a few laughs from the crowd and the people mockingly chuffed at the ape-men.

"You dare insult Hanuman?" the Jabari leader fumed, his face wrinkled in disgust. He turned to the crowd. "All of you dare insult Hanuman? You will feel his wrath! It is a disgrace that you have a child as your scientist, an outsider as your Princess. And now, you elect this man as your king? A man who could not even save his own father."

Ororo felt her hands grow hot, as thunder rumbled in the distance yet again. She felt her eyes flash white and ground her teeth, rage pumping through her veins. How dare he disrespect the dead! And not just any dead man, the man was the benevolent King T'Chaka! She hissed softly, mouthing to T'Challa to do something.

Monroe glared at the man who walked around the edge of the waters and issued his challenge. Halfway through, T'Challa interrupted him, stating that his challenge was accepted. The Jabari leader paused, offended that he had been cut-off in what Monroe had assumed to be the beginning of a practised and drafted speech dedicated to the glory that was the Jabari tribe and the might of their leader. Clearly, T'Challa had tired of this man's nonsense.

The Jabari and Dora both readied themselves with their own chants. Both groups made their way to barricade the escape, surrounding the two men with a wall of spears and swords. Zuri shouted for the challenge to begin. T'Challa looked at her one last time before keeping his eyes trained on M'Baku.

Watching anxiously, she nodded to him.

She didn't know if he saw her acknowledgement, but his stance grew firmer. The two whipped around the edge before jabbing at each other. T'Challa, having just had his strength removed, was obviously losing. Monroe felt her pulse quicken. He couldn't lose. Not now, not with...she stalled the thought, attempting to stop it from fully forming in her mind but it slipped through her grasp and reared its serpentine head, the venom of gloom and regret from its two fangs threatening to bring tears to her eyes.

They had no children yet.

One strike from M'Baku. T'Challa dodged.

She wondered what Professor X would have said. If he had been here, would he have helped T'Challa simulate fighting without his powers? That was, after all, something that the X-Men leader had trained his group of mutants to do. Hand-to-hand combat, no powers, only raw skill and physical strength. After all, if all mutants could rely on their powers, they would be useless once the world found a cure. _True strength comes from fighting even when you have nothing left._

Another kick from M'Baku. T'Challa dodged and attempted to return a hit of his own.

Would Jean and Scott have loved to meet this man? After all, Jean had always been eager to find out whether Monroe fancied anyone. Not that Ororo could hide it from her anyways; Jean could read her mind and find out for herself if she wanted to. Whatever the case, she was glad the two were together and that Grey was not with, well, _the other guy._ He was too unstable, too volatile to be married to someone like Jean. _A guy who can't be balanced in his life is a guy who I don't want to know...let alone date._

Another punch from M'Baku. This one connected with T'Challa's jaw.

She winced. Rogue once took a punch like that. She had taken a week to recover, stealing _that guy's_ powers to heal was not an option for the girl. She pondered how much that hurt...or rather, how much more the blow had hurt, given that T'Challa's body would not be used to this level of pain. Ororo could only imagine how bad it was for him. The fact that he was still fighting despite having been beaten twice showed his tenacity and stamina.

Monroe gasped as M'Baku flipped T'Challa over and her husband lay on the ground, bleeding. She heard Shuri almost scream, the girl had covered her mouth with her hands to not shake T'Challa's focus. The Jabari cheered as their champion landed several more hits. She cheered T'Challa on, turning her wrist to send a small breeze over the water surface. Not enough to distract or interfere with the battle, but enough for T'Challa to know she was rooting for him. If he could even see what was happening.

Mama Ramonda cheered T'Challa on and that was enough to make him get up. He spun around deftly and landed a blow squarely in his jaw. Nakia cheered louder. She smiled and eyed the Jabari men nearby. They eyed as the Wakandan prince hopped onto their leader and the man collapsed onto the ground. Their eyes widened as T'Challa held the man in a choke hold, the nearest guard struggling to maintain a collected poise. His eyebrows creased and he gripped his spear tighter. The men unconsciously huddled closer together, attempting to draw support from each other.

Now you fear, thought Ororo.

Notwithstanding, she knew T'Challa wouldn't kill the man, it was unnecessary. He could not and would not spill blood if it wasn't needed. If this man would have any sense, he would yield before T'Challa ended him. She watched, her gaze cold as the Jabarian attempted to loose himself from the hold, but couldn't. He tapped twice on the ground and another time for good measure. T'Challa released him and the man turned over, choking and crawled to the nearby crevice to stand. T'Challa rose to his feet and the entire waterfalls shook with the sound of cheers that came after.

Zuri rose to crown the prince, no, the King and he gave the country the first salute as its monarch. Storm replied with a salute of her own and as the words left her mouth, she looked at T'Challa.

"My King," she whispered. "My sweet, loving charming King."


	14. Chapter 14

The trio walked through the streets, travelling through the marketplace quietly. Crowds had already formed by this time, but it was still relatively calm. The Wakandans typically had better things to do than bother their King and Queen. Not to mention the stares the Dora would have thrown at them if they had the nerves to approach their monarch. Besides, it wasn't the norm to go after famous individuals in Wakanda. The Westerners might have done so, but this country was much more civilised. Only barbarians would dream of ever fanatically pursuing an individual for his or her autograph.

Below their feet, Ororo could feel the heartbeat of the city thrumming along to their footsteps. The rattle through the earth as a tram passed overhead filled her with energy that could only stem from the pride of just having witnessed her husband defend their home from the invasion that was the Jabari. Her heart celebrated once again and so it seemed the land itself was also celebrating, the dirt on the ground swirling into miniature fireworks that swirled and danced around their feet, bathing the streets in brown clouds. The rise and fall, rise and fall motion gave the roadside the illusion of breath, the pulsing rhythm setting a percussive beat for the sounds of the humming crowd to follow, generating a symphony unlike any other. Unique and improvised.

The harmonious songs buzzed throughout the air and as Monroe glanced towards her husband, she was sure he was taking in the same sensations, albeit heightened for sure because of his mystical powers. Nakia too seemed lost in the city's lush serenade. The orchestration seemed distinctly lacking, however, and so, with a flick of her fingers, she added her own instrument to the mix; ruffling the sands and the cloths draped over several huts in the distance, she summoned a solemn gale that juxtaposed the cheery atmosphere the town provided.

Now, the town felt complete.

Glancing across where the wind blew, she noticed a small boy, no older than ten, sitting on a ledge, eyes glinting ambitiously. The boy, in all his lankiness, didn't seem the type suited for scaling arduous peaks or braving towering hurricanes, but she didn't seem the type when she was near his age either. She looked at the boy, her eyes transfixed by his smirk as he swung his legs over the edge, dangling them back and forth. Surprisingly, the rhythmic sway complimented nicely the town's symphony.

And why wouldn't it?

The boy's face, stature, the way he poised seemed to encapsulate perfectly the current state of the nation. Thrilled, but watchful. Victorious, but craving for another challenge. Steady as a drum beat, but poised to shift like the desert sands.

The gleam in his eyes changed as the boy caught sight of the trio walking underneath him. His mouth turned into a grin and he slapped his thigh excitedly thrice. Biting his lip and rubbing his neck, he noticed he had caught the attention of the Queen and gave a shy nod. Ororo was sure the boy would have waved but he did not want to warrant the attention of the Dora that had been marching before them. She glanced at the fierce warriors to see if any of them had noticed the little spy on the roof. All of them had their eyes trained on the roads ahead, sweeping their glances around, guarded looks adorned their faces. Monroe had found this interesting about all the Dora; their spear tips would tilt slightly towards the direction of their gaze. Either it was something that had been instilled in their training, or it was a habit passed from subconscious to subconscious.

Equally funny was the fact that despite all their tips leaning up, that was one direction they hardly bothered to check. Ororo smiled as she turned towards the boy again, her lips giving a small smirk. A secret smile that let the boy know he was safe. She didn't think the boy's smile could get any wider, but it just did.

Who knew it took so little to make people happy?

The trio paused at the corner to take in the sights, as so often Ororo had seen Mama Ramonda and Papa T'Chaka do. T'Challa must have been thinking of his late dad too as he suddenly gripped her arm tightly. Sensing how he straightened his spine more tersely, she stroked his back lovingly. And with each stroke, he seemed to relax a little more.

Continuing to rub her fingers soothingly on his upper back, she turned her attention back to the boy. Beyond the ledge, she heard the shouts of an elder woman calling to the boy. The voice remarked the danger of sitting so precariously on top, to which the boy groused that he had done this many times. The woman quipped with empty threats so void of consistency, they had no effect on the boy save causing him to indulge in some eye-roll fest.

Seeing the boy brought flashes of childhood back to her, memories she thought she had long forgotten flooded her mind. A reprimand from her foster parents. Climbing to the highest tree. Running from storekeepers. Flooding houses with mists. Bruising a knee. As more and more came out of the abandoned tunnel of her mind, those flashes blossomed into full stills until it finally paused at a distant glimpse of the moment she had scaled the central tower and sat at the edge of the roof as the boy had done, hanging her legs over and leaning back on her arms.

Seeing things from the sky down had its advantages.

For one, she enjoyed the thrill that came with having nothing between her feet and the ground, despite the ground being minutes away. She enjoyed being able to look out and see people, small and insignificant, go about their daily life. It certainly had helped her map out the various routes she could take to make a quick get-away, to vanish into the city lines and become nothing more than one of those insignificant people.

That had been almost a lifetime ago. She would not have dreamed that this would be her future back then. It's amazing how much people don't notice until you become significant. By then, T'Challa's sister had been wise enough to remove any trace from the web of her thieving adventures...or misadventures. It was a past she was worried would have interfered with her present, but it seemed as though she had forgotten that Wakandans weren't too thrilled about having a once-outsider join their ranks again, much less be their Queen.

So her past beyond adolescence was hardly touched upon. Not that she would be complaining, it was a past she had long shut in a locked chest which she had thrown into the darkest recesses of her mind and slammed a mental rock on the entrance to that abyss for good measure. So she was surprised her mind had suddenly chosen a boy, a harmless innocent young man, from off the Wakandan streets, poised on a roof as a trigger to bring back the past she had not thought of in a long time.

Not that she had killed anyone...but still.

She was sure stealing was enough to warrant judgement, much more punishment. She shrugged, attempting to bring her mind back to the present. If the past was in the past, then her mind must have been living in some sort of twisted history, unable to escape the guilt of being an ex-criminal, before becoming a fugitive in a nation that hated mutants. What made her move to America instead of staying in this nation was something she couldn't comprehend.

Blame it on hormones.

But she had no excuse for the things she did. And while history could never be rewritten, its mistakes could always be corrected. Not many people enjoy correction, though, she was sure. Wakandans, for instance, valued their traditions and change was harder for them than the people in the other place. She still understood the need to keep to themselves, lest their nation's precious resources landed in the wrong hands. It was necessary, but that was what she thought too before she began taking her first loaf of bread. Then another. And another. And then she took money. And then wallets.

Attempting to stop her train of thought before she went on a full museum tour into her past, she turned suddenly to Nakia and popped the question she was sure her husband had been dying to ask, "So when are you leaving?"

Nakia stiffened at the question, before rushing out an answer. "Next week."

"You knew I wasn't staying right?" She added later, addressing T'Challa more than Storm.

The man eyed his wife, unsure of whether he should be thankful. For one, he could stop thinking about his father and worry about something more pressing; his future as a King and the policies he would employ. That and the fact that he had hoped Nakia would stay longer to spend more time with him and his wife. It had been ages since they last saw her and from the way his wife kept her eyes away from the wardog, he knew she wasn't too happy that Nakia was leaving so soon either. He paced for several steps before answering Nakia's question. Her inquiry was rhetorical but he felt a need to defend himself. So he dignified Nakia with a response she did not ask for.

"I know Wakanda cannot afford to open its borders to the nations around, nor lend its resources. If that is what takes for you to stay, it may be awhile before any change happens." He replied, tactful about what he said, lest he revealed his ignorance of Nakia's plans. Not that her decision surprised him, but he had not expected the war dog wanting to return to the line of duty so soon.

"So you didn't know?" Nakia pressed.

"No, he didn't," Ororo confirmed.

T'Challa made an irritated sound in jest and gave his wife a playful frown. She shrugged and tossed back her head, letting her white hair fly back into the air. He brushed aside a stray strand from her cheeks and motioned for them to continue walking. The Dora nodded and started off...silence fell onto the trio. The man took in the sights of the familiar streets and his eyes fell upon the faces of the crowd. He tried to remember if he had seen any of those faces before, he certainly had. Immediately, he recognized one man from the building opposite. He had been there at the Waterfalls. Everyone had, but this man was a face that had been one of the first faces he saw emerging from the cave. Yes, it was him now, he was sure. Only now his face was not caked with yellow paint, but flour dust.

Odd, he didn't strike him as a baker.

The man had coarse hands that seemed as though he had been working in a laborious job. It was not until the man had taken a hammer, twice the size of his forearm in thickness and started pounding the dough that he understood. Of course, baking bread was hard. It required brazen hands in handling the heat of the oven, hands that would not mind being coated with tapioca, flour and other spices and herbs. And there was the mass grinding of spices, pounding away day after day. It made sense that the man's hands would be rugged.

And why wouldn't it?

The man had to care for his family. The man had to shelter his wife and his two children, one enthusiastically running around and cleaving to his thigh, the other barely walking, but already was toddling towards his Papa to seek protection. It was natural for children to run to their fathers when they were scared. Natural for them to want shelter from whatever was outside, dangers too complex to understand fully. And they would find that shelter under the umbrella of their father's arms.

So he had to be strong. His shoulders would have to take the brunt of the family's burdens. His hands had to be ready to catch his loved ones and steady them on their feet. And yet his arms had to be gentle enough to cradle his little one, which he now did. Gingerly, he greeted his youngest by swiping his button nose, leaving a white speck of dust against the ebony of his skin. The boy gurgled happily and reached out his arms, which the man gleefully took, swinging the boy around and around and around until his son was nested on top of his broad shoulders. And then on the man's face was the brightest, widest smile T'Challa had ever seen.

Who knew it took so little to make people happy?

He looked at his wife, who had turned to watch the small boy and his Papa, who now was chasing the boy's sister around the house, threatening to cake her face in flour. She screamed in glee and ran out, across the street to where they were. This little girl, no sense of pragmatics or social cues and apparently little sense of direction, stumbled straight into Monroe's robes, planting her face deep into her skirts. Quickly, with his panther-like reflexes, T'Challa reached down and caught the girl as she rebounded and nearly fell onto the grainy pavement below. Had he not caught her, he couldn't bear to think what injuries she could have sustained. The way she had fallen too, she could have...no, she would have hit her delicate head.

He balanced the girl on her feet and asked if she was fine. Her father, now distraught at the realization of who his daughter had bumped into, ran after the girl and chided her.

"Watch where you are going. See, if you are not careful, you hurt yourself. And others too."

He turned to the monarch, who by now, had risen to his feet.

"My apologies, Your Majesty...my girl, she is clumsy and-"

"Not a problem, sir." He responded, cutting the man off before he could explain himself further, not wishing to cause him further distress. "You have two very beautiful children."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am sure you both would have beautiful children too, one day." He gave both him and his wife a nod. "You seem to make good parents. And I'm certain you would make wise rulers for this country."

"Ah, we shall see. I hope so, too." T'Challa responded, slightly embarrassed by the man's remarks. But a king must receive compliments with humility and confidence. He made a gesture to leave and the man remarked that he would have shaken his hand had his own not been covered with flour. His two children, however, did offer the king a salute, which earned the smiles of the Dora around them. The family tottered away, back to their lives of baking and chasing each other with flour on their hands while the trio walked on, passing the house and entering a busier street.

He looked at his wife, pondering the man's thoughts. Immediately, his wife shut his thoughts up with a glance. _Not yet. Don't ask._

Breathing in deeply, he cleared his mind and searched the streets for something to focus on. As his mind shifted from the thought of children to the scenic roads ahead, Nakia burst his focus by bringing up another subject.

"If that girl was born in another part of Africa, she would not be running free like that..."

T'Challa frowned at this statement, his wrist clenching slightly. He did not want to pursue this conversation further than he needed to, but if he was ever going to be a King, he was sure this conversation would be started either by his counsel or some other individual he had the chance to interact with. And as a King, he would do well with hearing fresh perspectives which contradicted what he was taught or what he believed. So, with bated breath, he began this dance, hoping not to step on any toes.

"What would you have Wakanda do?"

"Share what we have," Nakia said, with so much conviction and simplicity T'Challa was surprised. He thought she would have been more hesitant, knowing that the country was at risk. But Nakia was not one to pause and strategize. She could not stand still and wait for things to pass, she needed to go offence and initiate the attack. It was why she refused the position of a Dora and went for the role of a spy. On the run. Always on her toes. Ready to attack.

Not that violence was on the nation's playbook...but still.

Fighting was something droned into them as kids, not just the royals, but the commoners as well. They were prepared to fight and sacrifice their lives for the greater good should it come to it...an undying loyalty that built and sculpted every great warrior.

Pausing to show that he took her seriously, both Ororo and he turned to face the woman, standing towards each other. Knowing that she had the attention of the two most influential individuals in the nation's economy and foreign affairs efforts, she began her argument anew.

"We could provide aid and access to technology and refuge to those who need it. Other countries need it, we could do it better."

There. There was the loophole. The one thing that stopped him from acting in good conscience, the only one thing that was pinned tightly to his conscience that satisfied his guilt whenever he heard of refugees seeking shelter, individuals losing loved ones to cancer, rescue squads losing lives because they did not have access to the drones and the technology and armour that they had. As comforting as it was that the world was ignorant of Wakanda's abundant resources, always portraying the nation - his home - as a third world country. It helped that they were in Africa, whom the world had mistakenly, and seemed to gladly, portray as poor and small and helpless.

Blame it on the Colonizers.

Not only the fact that outside of Africa, his other brothers and sisters were oppressed and threatened, but also that he could not help them lest they collapsed onto the mountain of Vibranium in Wakanda and rob once again with greedy pale hands what was not theirs. He could not allow them...or anyone that had ill motivations...to gain hold of it and claim what had been theirs for generations and generations.

"We are not like these other countries, Nakia. If the world found out what we truly are...what we possess, we could lose our way of life."

Why he felt it would satisfy her, he did not know...wardogs were persistent creatures.

"Wakanda is strong enough to help others and protect others at the same time."

The man sighed and placed his hands in his pockets, a habit he had picked up when he was at a lost for words. Not that he agreed, that he was sure and Nakia was sure. It was just that he knew Nakia could not be swayed and if she couldn't be persuaded, it was an argument not worth wasting time on.

Good thing Ororo had a way with distractions.

"Well, maybe you could start by being strong enough to help us here and help those outside as well."

Nakia laughed. "I'm not Wakanda, I'm just an individual fortunate enough to be a part of this land."

"So are we," T'Challa spoke.

And it was true. Not just for him, but for all of them. It mattered not that he was King, there was still the Council. It mattered not that she could control the weather, she still could not move mountains. It mattered not that she had a heart, the whole world could not be contained in it. If they worked hard, perhaps the Council could be convinced, the mountain of Vibranium they had could be shared with the world and then, Nakia's vision of helping the world would be accomplished. But that took more than a handful of people, even if they were in high positions.

Kings and Queens, mutants and men, thieves and warriors, spies and protectors. Whoever they were, they were still just three individuals. Still, individuals were what made history. And perhaps, to change Wakanda, an individual was enough.

Just an individual fortunate enough.


End file.
